


The Unlikely CEO

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Drama, First Times, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-02
Updated: 1999-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair is the black sheep of a wealthy industrial family, who oddly enough is named heir to his grandfather's fortune. Jim is the security consultant hired to protect him from the danger that comes along with his plans for sweeping corporate reform.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started out over on Senad. Big hug to Shar for her contributions to the story when it was in its snippet form. Also, thanks to all the wonderfully supportive people who encouraged me to continue with it. And last but not least, huge thanks to JudySue for her wonderful insight and for making this a stronger story than it would otherwise have been. This is the last of the unfinished fragments littering my hard drive, and I'm going on hiatus from TS fic for a while to concentrate on some other things. But I will be back. I do still owe an auction story, after all.

This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.

## The Unlikely CEO

by Annabelle Leigh with Shar

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from The Sentinel do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little non-profit romance and adventure.

* * *

The Unlikely CEO - part one  
by Annabelle Leigh (with Shar) 

Jim Ellison rubbed his hands over his face and wondered how everything had gotten so far away from him. This day. His pathetic excuse for a career. His whole damned _life._ He could feel the headache gathering its forces, twin points of pain in his temples that would soon flower into blinding agony. He'd never realized how damned _loud_ the airport was before. But then, everything was too loud for him. 

He shifted his weight, impatiently waiting for his "charge" to come off the plane from London. He sighed. It seemed like a hundred years since he'd gone on missions, defended his country, since he'd done work he could be proud of. Now, his job was to babysit rich assholes while they played at ruling the world. He shook his head and held the sign with the name of his charge on it a little higher. His headache only grew worse. 

"Hey, man. I'm Blair Sandburg. You must be the guy they sent from the security firm, right?" a low, mellow, almost musical voice came from behind him. For one brief, blessed moment, it chased away the pain pounding in his temples. 

He turned to his charge, and his jaw dropped open. 

Jim found himself staring into impossibly captivating blue eyes, open and curious, not cynical or calculating, as he'd come to expect from senior level executives. And then there was the man those unusual blue eyes belonged to--short but powerfully built, long, curly auburn hair, turned up nose, strong jaw, an honest, expressive face. And _young_. Far, far too young to be the CEO of Sandburg Enterprises. 

"Hey, man, you still with me?" the young man asked, and it jolted Jim back to reality, out of the temporary blankness he'd slipped into, one of his episodes, that were happening more and more frequently these days. 

//Shit! If this keeps up, I'm not going to be able to keep this job either.// 

He sighed. "Sorry. It's just that I was told to expect the company's CEO. Are you his son?" Jim asked, taking in his charge's torn jeans, faded T-shirt, the strange looking native fetish that was tied around his neck. 

The young man laughed. "No, I'm him. Not exactly your picture of the CEO of a multinational corporation, huh?" 

Jim colored. "No, I didn't mean... Mr. Sandburg, I apologize." 

But the young man simply clapped him on the back, companionably, obviously not taking offense. "Don't sweat it, man. Hell, I'm not _my_ idea of a corporate bigwig. And call me Blair. I insist." 

"I'm Jim. Jim Ellison. I'm here from Cascade Security," he managed to say through his embarrassment, his throat strangely dry. 

He finally remembered his manners and offered his hand. Blair smiled, his face lighting up, and Jim shifted uncomfortably, feeling even more parched. 

"Good to know you, Jim," the young man said and shook his hand. 

"Let me help you with that," he offered, reaching out to take one of Blair's bags. 

"Thanks, man. But be careful. That one has Colombian artifacts in it. I need to deliver them to the university." 

"Colombian artifacts, huh?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at his young charge. 

Blair ginned. "What can I say? I wasn't always an overpaid corporate do-nothing living off the honest labor of other people. Actually, I was in London to present a paper at an anthropology symposium. I guess it'll be my last one," Blair said, his voice faltering a little. 

Jim didn't think he looked very happy about the change in his profession. 

"Anyway," Blair continued. "Professor O'Neill, a colleague of mine, had just come back from Colombia and was supposed to bring these terra cotta statuettes to Professor Jacobs over at Rainier. He got held up, so I agreed to bring them with me. Man, you would not believe the problems I had with the Customs people at Heathrow. I had to spend a good hour explaining what they were, who I was, why I had the artifacts with me. It didn't matter how many times I showed them the papers from the Colombian Ministry of Culture releasing the statuettes. I ended up laying it on pretty thick about educational discovery, the importance of understanding other cultures, the sanctity of academic pursuits, blah, blah, blah. They finally saw it my way." 

Jim smiled. "Sounds like you were pretty persuasive." 

Blair shrugged. 

"So are these artifacts of yours very valuable?" Jim asked. 

"Not particularly, at least not monetarily. Actually, they're produced by one of the indigenous tribes in Colombia who have actually started selling them to tourists. But the iconography has its roots in myths that go back thousands of years, something anthropologists just figured out not that long ago. Professor Jacobs is an expert on folklore, and he's hoping they'll shed some light on a particular legend he's trying to decipher." 

"Sounds interesting." 

Blair nodded. "Yeah, man, it really is." 

Jim took the bag, but made certain to handle it with care. He changed position so that he was slightly behind, but still beside, his young charge. His eyes remained alert, glancing around the terminal, searching for any possible threat. 

Blair turned to him in surprise, apparently not expecting the bodyguarding to begin so abruptly. The bizarre respite Jim had received from his pounding headache ended without warning, and a jagged blade of pain sliced him between the eyes. He struggled to contain it, to keep a grip on himself, to maintain control of the situation. 

"Hey, man...are you all right? Maybe you should sit down?" the young man suggested, laying his hand on Jim's forearm. 

Jim turned to him, a scowl on his face, a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue. But there was nothing in Blair's expression but genuine concern, and that softened him somehow. 

He sighed. "I'm fine. Just a little headache," he said and offered a nervous smile. 

Blair looked at him skeptically, obviously unconvinced, but he said simply, "Okay, man. If you're sure." 

Jim accompanied him out of the airport, continuing to scan the crowds of travelers for anything out of the ordinary. At the same time, though, he couldn't keep his mind from replaying how it felt when Blair touched him. It had only been for a moment, the man's hand on his arm, just to express basic human concern. But it had been long enough for the heat and feel of it to sink into his bones, to make his stomach flutter with something, some emotion he couldn't afford to examine. 

Not when Blair Sandburg was his professional responsibility. Not when his freaked out senses were already enough of a distraction. Not when the thought of something happening to this young man tore at him in a strangely emotional way, despite the fact he'd known him only for a few minutes. 

"So can you tell me more about these latest incidents?" Jim asked, trying to resume a more professional demeanor. 

Blair sighed. "It's nothing I can prove. Hell, maybe they _were_ accidents. I don't always have the greatest luck in the world. In one instance, the brakes on my car failed. Ah, man, it was a classic Corvair, a real beauty, completely totaled. The cops couldn't say for sure that it had been tampered with. After the explosion, there just wasn't enough evidence to tell." 

"Explosion?" Jim asked, a cold, sick chill prickling along the back of his neck at the thought of what could have happened to Blair. 

The young man grimaced. "I was _really_ lucky to make it out of that one. Then a few weeks later, a chandelier almost fell on my head when I went to the Sandburg family estate to sign some papers. They blamed a servant for improperly rehanging it after it was cleaned, and they fired him. But..." 

"You didn't believe it?" 

"Would you?" 

Jim shook his head. "Not for a minute. So how did you come to inherit the company?" 

Blair laughed, humorlessly. "That is the $25,000 question. Or should I say the $250 million question. I'm like the serious black sheep of the family. My mom wasn't married when she had me. Hell, I don't even know who my father is. I've been persona non grata in the family all my life, and that was always fine with me since I never had the slightest interest in the business anyway. Now I'm the heir. It's a mystery to everybody, most of all to me." 

"I'll need you to fill me in on all the people who might want to see you dead." 

All the light drained out Blair's face, and he suddenly looked older than his age. "I hope you've got some free time, man. It's not exactly a short list these days." 

"I find that hard to believe, Chief," Jim said, leading the young man across the parking lot to the security company's Ford Bronco. "You seem the sort who makes more friends than enemies." 

He took Blair's bags and stowed them in the back, then opened the door for him. 

"Yeah, well, it's amazing how a whole lot of money and more power than you ever wanted can really screw up your life," Blair said, as he settled into the seat and fastened his safety belt. 

Jim went around to the other side of the vehicle and got in. "So tell me about the rest of the family." 

Blair sighed. "My mother had one brother, who died in a car wreck about ten years ago. He had three kids, two sons and a daughter. The oldest is Elliot, a real buttoned down type, a lawyer at one of the big firms downtown, huge house out on the sound, country club membership, the whole nine yards. It was always just assumed that he'd take over the business, ever since I can remember. And then there's Marissa. She's this blonde, busty femme fatale type that everybody thought would marry well and fade into the background. But I could always tell she had bigger plans than that. Actually, she's probably got the best head for business of all of them, but my grandfather wasn't too keen on the idea of women working. Andrew is the baby. He's still in college, really just looking to have a good time and to have it financed with family money." 

"I take it you're not that close?" 

"I think you can see how I wouldn't exactly fit in with that kind of crowd." 

Jim nodded. From the sound of it, he thought it was just as well that Blair was nothing like his cousins, but he kept that opinion to himself. They were still the man's family, after all. 

"And they're all here in Cascade?" he asked. 

Blair nodded. "My grandfather was British, so we have a family estate in the north of England. But my grandmother was old Cascade stock. Everybody in the family pretty much splits their time between here and there. Well, except for me and my Mom. We've always kind of gone our own way." 

"And what does your mother think of all this? I'm surprised she isn't here to help you deal with the rest of the family." 

Blair smiled. "You don't know Naomi, man. This is exactly the kind of thing she _can't_ deal with. When she heard about the will, she took off for a meditation community on Sumatra. She said she needed to process what had happened, and she was sure I'd do whatever was best." 

Jim frowned. The woman sounded like a flake to him--a flake who abandoned her son when the going got rough. But he kept that opinion to himself, as well. She was family too, and he could tell by way the younger man talked about her that he was very attached to his mother. 

"So you ever think of giving it up? Letting the ambitious cousins have what they want?" he asked, gently, hoping he wasn't treading on sensitive ground. 

"Are you kidding? Since all this happened, I've pretty much thought of nothing else. There's nothing I'd like more than just to throw my hands up and walk away from all this shit forever. But..." 

"What?" 

"I just really believe that things have a purpose, you know? It's completely freaky that my grandfather left his company to me, his least favorite grandkid, but maybe he wanted me to do something with it. Maybe he had his reasons and wasn't just kind of loopy there at the end. Sandburg Enterprises has extensive dealings in South America. Mining, oil, timber, you name it. All my work in anthropology has been centered on legends among native tribes in the Amazon basin. A lot of what we're doing with the business down there has profound repercussions on the ecosystem and on tribal life. Maybe I can find a way to keep this big corporation from killing off the indigenous cultures and destroying the rain forest." 

"Make sweeping reforms? Completely retool how Sandburg Enterprises does business?" 

"Yeah. That's what I'm thinking. And we'll use that in our marketing strategy. We'll position ourselves as the company that cares, the one that's taking steps to preserve the planet and our heritage for future generations." 

"You've shared this philosophy with people on the board of directors?" 

Blair grimaced. "Yeah. They weren't too thrilled about it." 

"Anybody particularly vocal?" 

"A few people. Brett Carney, the company's president. He's responsible for the day-to-day running of our operations, while as CEO and Chairman of the Board, I set the overall vision and goals. So he'd be the one who would have to make my plan work, the details and stuff. He didn't seem too happy about that. Ted Johnson didn't like my proposition very much either. He's in- house legal counsel. There's also Jay Etris, the Chief Financial Officer. And then, of course, all my cousins." 

"You were right, Chief. It really is a long list of people who might want you out of the way. If the thing with the chandelier wasn't an accident, then we're definitely looking at a member of your family. If it was though, hell, it could be any major stockholder or an employee worried about keeping his job." 

"There are a few people who like my ideas," Blair said, defensively. 

Jim shot a glance over at him. Blair's shoulders were hunched and tense. He looked hurt. 

"Hey, Chief, _I_ think it's a great idea, okay? I mean, it's the _right_ , the _decent_ thing to do. It's a testament to who you are that you even thought of it. But people don't always react well to change, even when it's for the good. And most people are a hell of a lot greedier than you are." 

"You aren't," Blair said. 

Jim looked at him. "You don't know that." 

"Yes, I do," the young man insisted, holding his gaze. "I feel like I know a lot of things about you, Jim." 

Blair's voice dropped into the husky, lower register on those last words, and the sound got inside Jim somehow. For a moment, the chaos of his senses cleared, and he could see, hear, feel, smell, taste with such clarity, with such impossible acuity, without the blinding pain that usually went along with it. 

He stopped at a red light and took the opportunity to stare at his companion, to really take him in. The late afternoon light played in Blair's hair, and suddenly, he could see all the individual colors, some light and metallic, others rich and deep. Chestnut. Gold. Brown. He could smell the man's shampoo and soap, the orange juice he'd had on the plane, his sweat, and something else too, something warm and friendly and uniquely Blair. He could hear the man's heart beating and the breath rushing in and out of his lungs, and instead of repelling him like it usually did when he forgot to tune such things out, he found it inordinately comforting. For the first time ever, his senses felt like a gift, rather than a curse. 

A gentle touch on his hand shocked him back to reality. 

"It's green," Blair said. 

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," he said and headed the truck into the intersection. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

"Fine." 

"That's the second time today that's happened." 

"I'm fine. Really, Chief. I'm perfectly capable of doing my job. I won't let anything happen to you." 

"I wasn't worried about me, man." 

He could feel Blair watching him, but he kept his eyes on the road. The last thing he needed was for his client to find out about his condition. That would definitely spell the end for him at Cascade Security. There was a part of him that insisted he could trust Blair, that he could finally share the burden of this bizarre illness with someone else, someone who might understand. But the rest of him knew from experience that trusting people was a luxury he couldn't afford. 

He turned the truck into the driveway of the Cascade Intercontinental Hotel, the address his firm had given him. 

"You don't have your own place? I thought you lived here in Cascade." 

Blair nodded. "I do. I'm a grad student over at the university. Or I guess I should say I _was_. I had to give that up to take over the company. I did have an apartment until a few weeks ago, but it...well, it blew up, actually." 

"It blew up?" 

"Drug lab next door. Who knew?" 

"Geezus, Chief. Where the hell were you living?" 

"The only place I could afford as a poor student." 

"I guess things are looking up, huh?" he said, gesturing to the lavish stone exterior of Cascade's most exclusive hotel. 

"This was the idea of the people over at the corporate office. They thought I'd be safer in a place like this." 

Jim parked the car. "Yeah, I'd have to agree." 

He got out and retrieved the luggage from the back. Blair reached to take one of the bags, and their hands brushed. Jim sucked in his breath. He felt the contact, like a jolt of electricity, all the way up to his elbow. 

"I should come up," he said. 

"Oh, definitely," Blair agreed, his voice low and inviting and... 

Sultry. 

Jim blushed hotly, something he hadn't done since junior high. "To make sure...uh, you know, to check to see that everything's okay. To keep you safe." 

Blair nodded and smiled. "Yes, Jim. You should definitely come upstairs and take care of me," he said and headed inside, leaving Jim standing there on the sidewalk with his mouth hanging open. 

Eventually, Jim did remember where he was and, more importantly, why he was there. The urgent need to protect Blair slammed into him, and he hurried inside to catch up with him. //I shouldn't have let him out of my sight. Anything could happen, at any moment. I _know_ that. Got to start doing my damned _job._ // He mentally reprimanded himself. //No matter what, I can't allow this to become personal. Even if he seemed like he wanted...no! Don't go there. Shit! And I thought I was being so discreet.// 

He could not have been more surprised that Blair had seen through him so easily, that he'd been able to read his desires that way. Discretion had been a way of life as long as Jim could remember. There had always been some reason to be careful, always some part of himself he was forced to hide, to protect. He was usually quite good at it. 

It had all started a long time ago, way back in his childhood, when his mother had left them. His father had been so angry that he forbade her name from ever being mentioned in his presence again, preferring to pretend she never existed. He expected his sons to follow suit, and when they forgot, the punishments were swift and sure. Jim quickly figured out how to dissemble. He learned to be a seamless picture of normal boyhood on the outside, all the while he was shattered and empty on the inside, a lonely, cratered place in him, deep and wide, where he mourned the loss of his mother, whose very memory was taboo. 

After a while, it didn't seem so odd to be one thing on the outside and quite another on the inside. It began to seem natural that only he would ever really know who he was. In fact, in time, this came to feel like the only way to be safe. So when his senses went berserk, when his marriage failed and he was forced to face the truth about his sexual nature, he kept his own counsel about it all. He practiced the kind of stone-faced secrecy he'd learned in his Covert Ops training back in the army. He became a psychological master of disguise, fooling everyone he met. 

Until now. Until Blair. 

He found the young man in the lobby, waiting for him by the elevator. 

"Hey, what took you so long?" Blair asked, grinning at him. 

That caught Jim up short, for a moment defusing his anger. It was the most completely disarming smile he'd ever seen. He stared into Blair's face, into his eyes. They weren't sky blue or baby blue, certainly not pale, faded blue like his own. They were dark, rich, bottomless, like he could get lost in them, just the way he got lost in the man's scent and sound. The way he'd love to get lost in the taste and feel of him. Jim had never been more intimately aware of anyone in his life. No one had ever had such a profound effect on him. His vision practically sparkled when he was in Blair's company. His body tingled all over, pulsing with want and well-being, those places inside him that he'd thought were long dead now becoming green and vital again. It was a good feeling. He wanted more of it. He wanted everything he could possibly get. 

It took a supreme act of will, but he did manage to catch himself just before he fell off the edge into complete infatuation. //Get a hold of yourself!// He ordered, forcing himself to close up, to withdraw, a well-practiced habit by now. 

"Don't ever do that again!" he yelled at Blair, more harshly than was absolutely necessary, angry with himself, with his traitorous feelings and his rebel body, taking it out on his charge. 

"What?" the young man asked, his expression instantly changing, twisting into surprise, then hurt, then anger. 

"Never run off without me. It only takes a second for something to happen. I can't protect you if you won't work with me." 

"Chill out, man. I was out of your sight for _maybe_ a millisecond. _Maybe._ " 

"That's all it takes." 

"Fine," Blair said, in a clipped voice. "I'll be more careful." 

"Good." 

"Fine." 

The elevator doors opened, and they both got on. Blair pressed the button for the 32nd floor, and they rode up to the penthouse in strained silence. They got off, and Jim followed Blair down the corridor to his room. He mentally surveyed the surroundings, looking for problems, places where assassins could hide, slipping into protector mode, anticipating the dangers. But he sensed nothing, no one. 

"You have the whole floor to yourself?" he asked. 

"There are only two other suites up here. The people at the corporate office thought it would be safer if there wasn't anyone else around, so they rented out everything." 

"Good thinking." 

Blair unlocked the door to the Presidential suite. 

Jim reached for his arm. "Let me go first." 

After a moment's hesitation, Blair nodded. Jim slipped into the suite and did a quick check to make sure all was clear. 

"It's okay," he called to the young man when he was satisfied there was nothing amiss. 

His charge dropped his bags by the door and shrugged out of his jacket. 

"Nice place," Jim commented. 

Sandburg Enterprises was obviously sparing no expense. The suite was five rooms--living room, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms--tastefully decorated in an early American style, with a few pieces that looked like actual antiques. Jim couldn't imagine how much they must be paying for the place and the other two suites as well. 

"I suppose it's fine," Blair said, sounding distracted, settling tiredly onto the sofa. 

"We should discuss your schedule. Let me get a sense of where you're going to be. That way I can be prepared for whatever comes up." 

"If you don't want to guard me, you can say so. I'll work it out with your company, make sure they know it's not because you weren't doing a good job. I can have internal security at Sandburg Enterprises look out for me. We don't have to do this." 

Jim froze, stunned. "You don't want me protecting you?" 

Blair sighed. "Not if I make you uncomfortable. I figure your taking my head off down in the lobby was because you didn't appreciate my flirting with you out on the sidewalk. What can I say? Apparently, I colossally misread the situation. But the cat's out of the bag now, and I just wanted to say that I understand if you'd rather not be responsible for looking out for me." 

"Look, Blair--" 

"No! _You_ look," the young man said, angrily jumping up from the sofa to pace by the windows. "I don't want to end up with a bullet in my brain because you're trying to keep a safe distance from the little faggot who had the nerve to come onto you. Okay?" 

"I would never--" 

"It's bad enough the shit I have to put up with from my own family. I'm not going to take crap from someone who's going to be in my face 24-7, someone who's supposed to be on _my_ side." 

"Would you just--" 

"And don't you dare try to tell me I'm crazy. I know I didn't imagine--" 

A familiar noise distracted Jim, a sliding sound, metal against metal, and then a clicking he recognized all too well. He tracked the sound back to its source, the high rise building across the street from the hotel. 

"--the abrupt change in your attitude. I know when someone is disgusted by me. I'm not stupid. I notice when--" 

"Blair! Get down!" Jim screamed and dove for him, knocking him down, covering the young man's body with his own. 

He could hear the shatter of glass, the hot zinging of the bullets over their heads and the sound of the impact as they tore into the plaster on the opposite wall. He could feel Blair trembling beneath him. When it seemed safe, he rolled off him and helped the young man sit up. 

"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously and then noticed a cut on Blair's forehead where he'd hit the leg of a chair on the way down. "Ah, shit!" He gently touched the wound, wiping away the blood with his fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." 

Blair smiled weakly. "I don't think you're allowed to apologize when you've just saved my life." 

"Stay here, okay? I'm going to close the blinds and then call the cops. I'll be right back." 

Blair nodded. Jim crawled over to the windows, carefully checked the building across the street for any sign of the shooter, and closed the blinds when he was satisfied the guy was long gone. He used the phone in the bedroom to call 911, then went into the bathroom to wet a towel for Blair's head, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for a bandage and disinfectant. He came back to find Blair still sitting obediently on the floor. 

"I'm pretty sure it's clear now. But just in case, let's get you over here out of the line of fire." 

He helped Blair to his feet and settled him onto a chair that was clear of the windows. He began to clean and dress the cut, which thankfully wasn't too bad. 

"I'm sorry," Blair said. 

Jim shook his head. "You have no reason to be." 

"Yes, I do. For what I said. I really thought you might not care about keeping me safe given how I... Obviously, I was wrong." 

"It's okay. No offense taken." 

Blair smiled. "Thanks, man." 

Jim brushed back his hair and applied the bandage. He let his hands linger a little longer than was entirely necessary, enjoying the feel of Blair's warm skin and his soft hair. One of Blair's hands came up to cover his. 

"How did you know?" the young man asked him. 

"What?" 

"That someone was there, that they were going to shoot?" 

"I don't know," he stumbled. "I guess it's just instinct." 

Blair shook his head. "No. I saw your face. You _heard_ something. You _saw_ something. How is that possible, Jim?" 

A voice inside Jim, one he wasn't used to, clamored for honesty, for self-revelation. //Tell him. Trust him.// 

"Blair, I--" 

A knock on the door interrupted him. 

"Mr. Ellison? Mr. Sandburg? This is Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade PD. Open the door, please." 

Jim sighed. "I'll get that, Chief." 

Blair caught his arm just as he was about to turn away. "We _will_ finish this later, James." 

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. Blair let him go. 

"Captain Banks," he said, as he opened the door for the policeman. "Thanks for coming so quickly. I'm Jim Ellison, Mr. Sandburg's security consultant." 

Jim led the police officer into the living room where Blair was waiting. 

"Is everybody all right?" Captain Banks asked. 

"Fortunately," Jim said. 

"Thanks to Jim," Blair added. 

"It's a good thing you were on the job, Mr. Ellison," Captain Banks said. 

"I'm just glad no one was hurt," Jim said. 

"I'll need you to tell me what happened," the captain said. 

Jim nodded. "Of course." 

"Won't you sit down?" Blair said, gesturing toward the couch. 

The policeman made himself comfortable. 

"So you've been having some problems lately I understand, Mr. Sandburg," Captain Banks said. 

"Yeah. There have been a couple of accidents that were suspicious, but this is the first time anybody's _shot_ at me." 

"I saw the police report on the car wreck. Do you have any idea who'd want you dead?" 

"The same long list I gave you guys after the accident." 

Captain Banks nodded. "So what happened here today?" 

"We had just arrived. Jim and I were...discussing plans for security, and somebody shot at me through the window." 

"That how you got hurt?" the captain asked, pointing to the bandage. 

"I pushed him down," Jim explained. "He hit his head on a chair." 

"A small price to pay to still be breathing," Blair said. 

"I'd say so," the captain agreed. "How'd you get to him in time?" he asked Jim. 

"I don't know," Jim lied. "I guess you'd have to call it instinct." 

"Mmmm," the police captain said, noncommittally. "So the bullets came through the window and..." 

"Hit the opposite wall," Jim said, pointing. 

Captain Banks got up to examine the bullet holes, and Jim joined him. What he saw caused all the blood to drain from his face. 

"Shit!" he cursed. 

"You said it," Captain Banks said, looking a little pale himself. 

"What?" Blair wanted to know, getting up from his chair. 

Both Jim and Captain Banks headed out to the hall, and they found more bullet holes there, in the wall opposite the suite. 

"This is a problem," the captain said. 

Jim could only nod, his throat too constricted to speak. He followed the captain back inside. 

" _What_?" Blair demanded. 

"I'm afraid it's looking like this was a professional hit, Mr. Sandburg. The shooter obviously used a high powered rifle if he took the shot from across the street, and from the way the bullets tore through several walls, I'd say they were teflon-tipped," the captain explained. "Whoever wants you out of the way is getting pretty serious about it." 

"Those teflon bullets are like really dangerous, huh?" Blair asked, his voice small and shaky. 

"Yeah, Blair," Jim said. "Yeah, they are." 

Jim tried not to picture what one of those bullets would have done to Blair if it had hit him. He tried not to dwell on what he knew to be true about teflon bullets, the way they tore their victims apart, the way they practically exploded vulnerable human flesh. 

"Oh, God," Blair said, sinking weakly onto a chair. 

"I just want you to know, Mr. Sandburg, that the police department is taking this matter very seriously. I'm going to assign your case to our top detectives. We _will_ find out who's behind this. In the mean time, you'll have a full detail of officers at your disposal for security purposes." 

Jim glared at the man. " _I'm_ his security. You're not getting rid of me." 

Captain Banks shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Mr. Ellison. I'm putting the officers at _your_ disposal as well. I'm sure you could use some back up, right?" 

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said, somewhat mollified. "Let's just remember that I'm in charge of protecting Mr. Sandburg. What I say goes." 

The captain held up his hands. "No problem. We can work with that. In the morning, I'll need you both to come down to the station to make a formal statement. Then we can get going with the investigation. And Mr. Sandburg, you'll need to move to a more secure location--" 

"He's coming home with me," Jim interjected. 

"Oh," the captain said, surprised, looking from Jim to Blair and then back again, one eyebrow arched. "Well, I guess that...it seems like it's settled then." 

"Right. It's settled," Jim said, leaving no room for argument, not caring about the speculations he could see so clearly on the police captain's face. 

"Okay. Well, I suppose we're finished for now then. I'll be on my way. See you in the morning," he said, getting to his feet. 

"See you then," Blair said, moving to shake the man's hand. "And Captain Banks, thank you so much for your help. I appreciate your personally taking charge of this." 

Simon smiled. "Sandburg Enterprises is the biggest employer this town has. We can't exactly have someone shooting its CEO, now can we? Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen. I'll see myself out." 

Jim heard the door close behind the captain, and he turned to Blair. "Uh, Chief..." he stammered. 

"Yeah, man?" 

"You will come stay with me, right?" 

Blair moved beside him and looked him full in the face. "Yes, Jim, I will. That's exactly where I want to be. Wherever you are," he said. 

The low, gravelly, sultry quality had returned to Blair's voice, and Jim felt something turning upside down in his chest. 

* * *

Jim was amazed by how nervous it made him to have Blair in his territory, making himself at home in that easy way of his, indulging a curiosity that he was beginning to understand was insatiable. Jim stood in the kitchen and watched as Blair drifted around the living room taking in what few things there were to see. 

"How long have you lived here?" the young man asked. 

"Oh, about five years now." 

" _Five_ years? Geez, it's time to let yourself go a little, Jim. Make yourself at home. It looks more like a hotel here than over at the hotel. It would be nice to see _you_ in this room, you know what I mean?" 

Jim shrugged, not really understanding why this was important. "When I was married, there was more stuff. Carolyn took most of it when she left. I guess it reflected her more than me anyway. The truth is that this...well, this pretty much _is_ me." 

"No." 

"What?" Jim asked, looking over at his companion, surprised, not expecting disagreement. 

"This..." Blair said, waving his hands at the room. "This _emptiness_ does _not_ represent you. I won't let you go around thinking it does." 

Jim shifted his weight nervously, completely at a loss for what to say. He stared at Blair, helplessly, feeling the old, impossible longing constricting his chest, the desire for someone who would see him, the real him, the way Blair seemed to. At the same time, though, he felt the familiar, crushing certainty that this would never happen, that it was not possible. Even if by some miracle Blair _could_ want him, he couldn't afford to pursue him, not while Blair's well-being rested in his hands. Turning over the case to another of the consultants at the firm was not an option. He was determined to watch over Blair personally. He wouldn't leave this important responsibility to anyone else. 

And then even if the danger was dealt with, vanquished, there would still be all the things he could never tell Blair, the secrets he kept, the words that just would never come. All of that would get in the way, just as it had with Carolyn, just as it always did, with everyone, sooner or later. 

He turned away and went over to the refrigerator. "Could I get you something to drink? Then if you want, you can get a shower and rest a little. We can order dinner in. You must be tired and hungry. It's a long flight from London." 

Blair followed him into the kitchen. Jim could see from his expression that Blair realized he was trying to change the subject, but he didn't call him on it. "Yeah, man. That would be great. It's been an eventful day, you know?" 

Jim shuddered, remembering how that bullet had torn through three thick hotel walls, sturdy walls, constructed back when workmanship meant something. He had calculated the trajectory, and he knew that if he hadn't reached Blair in time the bullet would have hit him in the back of the head. He felt his stomach turn over at the nightmarish image that flashed across his mind, the sickening thought of what might have been. 

He tried to shake it off. //But it _didn't_ happen. He's here. He's fine. And I'm going to make sure he stays that way.// He grabbed two beers out of the fridge and handed one to his guest. Blair took it, and Jim led him back to the living room. The young man sank onto the sofa and sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the cushions. 

"It's catching up with you, huh?" Jim asked. 

"You said it, man. A long flight _and_ a near death experience all in one day. That's really more than I was prepared for," Blair answered, trying to make light of it, trying to laugh it off. But he sounded shaken. 

"Are you sure you're okay, Chief?" Jim asked, gently. 

Blair shook his head. "No, not really. I don't actually know _how_ I feel right now. And unfortunately, I don't have time to sort it out just yet. I've got to face the firing squad over at the corporate office tomorrow. You know, figuratively speaking. Well, hopefully." 

"I won't let anything happen to you, Blair. I promise." 

Blair turned to him, watching him in that careful, assessing way of his. He nodded. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate your being around. More than I can ever tell you." He paused for a moment, and then continued, "No one's ever wanted me dead before. It's just really..." 

"It's okay to be scared," Jim reassured him. 

"That's good, man, because I'm freakin' terrified. It's tough enough to hold my ground and do what I think is right at the company _without_ bullets flying around my head." 

"I understand, Chief. I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again," Jim said. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?" 

"I go before the shareholders to present my plan for the next fiscal year, and they'll vote to support it or not. I mean, it's not binding or anything, more like a vote of confidence. But it's still really important. If they don't like what I have to say and divest their shares, it could send the stock price plummeting and hurt the company. It's not gonna be fun. I have to convince a roomful of powerful, driven, profit-hungry investors that implementing new environmentally friendly, culturally sensitive polices will have long-term benefits that will offset any short-term impact on revenues." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah. I know." 

"Hey, I didn't mean... I'm sure you'll get them to see your side of it. I haven't known you that long, Chief, but from that story you told me at the airport about dealing with the Customs agents, it seems you have something of a gift for talking people into things." 

Blair tilted his head. "Are you trying to tell me I'm pushy?" 

"Well..." 

"Hey!" Blair elbowed him in the side. 

Jim smiled. "No, Chief. Not pushy. I just get the idea you can be persuasive when you want to be." 

Blair returned the smile. "Okay, I'll accept that diplomatic response. And thanks, man. It's nice to know that at least one person has some confidence in my abilities." 

Jim lightly touched the young man's shoulder. "I really do, you know. Have confidence in you. If anybody can pull this off, you can. I just have a feeling." 

Blair blinked. "Wow, man. That's so cool. Thank you." 

Jim cleared his voice, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "Why don't you go get that shower now? I'll call for some dinner. Then you can get some sleep. You'll need to be at your best tomorrow." 

As if on cue, Blair yawned, a big, wide, jaw-cracking yawn. "Yeah, man. That sounds good. Which way to the shower?" 

"It's just around the corner there," Jim said, pointing. "And the spare room's right across from it. Feel free to make yourself at home." 

Blair yawned again and then levered himself up from the sofa. "Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate your going out of your way for me like this." 

Jim shook his head. "Don't mention it, Chief. There's clean towels and stuff in there. Just help yourself to whatever you need." 

Blair thanked him again and padded over to his luggage, carrying it into the spare room. Jim could hear him toss his stuff onto the bed, unzip the bag and then begin digging around in it. He got up and headed over to the kitchen drawer where he kept the take-out menus. It was mostly Chinese and a few pizza places, nothing very adventurous. With his spazzed out senses, he preferred the tamest food possible. Somehow he suspected Blair didn't share his meat-and-potatoes sensibility. 

"Hey, Blair?" he called. "What do you want for dinner?" 

"What are the options?" his charge called back. 

"Uh. Let's see. Pizza. Chinese," he said, sifting through the stack. "Thai." Jim squinted at the menu, wondering where it had come from, thinking it must be some leftover from the Carolyn days. 

"Yeah. That. Thai." 

Jim shook his head, unsurprised. Blair had "exotic" written all over him. 

"Do you know what you want or do you want to look at the menu?" 

"Nah, man. I don't need the menu. Get me an order of mixed vegetables with red curry and some sticky rice." 

"Okay," he said, scanning the menu, seeing nothing that seemed even remotely familiar. "Do you have any idea what _I_ might want?" 

Blair's belly laugh, deep and rich, washed over him, both soothing and stirring at the same time. 

"I take it your not a big fan of Thai cuisine, huh?" Blair asked from the other room. 

"Never really tried it," Jim admitted. 

"Do you like noodles?" 

"Sure." 

"Try the pad Thai. Ask them to make it really mild for you. I think you'll like it. And get us both an order of spring rolls while you're at it. You can never go wrong with spring rolls." 

"Thanks, Chief." 

"Hey, no problem. Thank _you_ for indulging me. I haven't had Thai food in like...forever." 

Jim picked up the phone and dialed the restaurant. He found himself automatically tracking Blair's movements as he placed their order. He listened to the young man head into the bathroom, close the door, but not lock it. He could hear the soft sounds of clothing hitting the floor, the airy whoosh of the shower curtain as it was pulled back, the sharp spray of the water against the tile. Then that sound became muffled as Blair climbed into the shower and the water began to travel down his body. An image of Blair naked and wet, relaxed and flushed from the moist heat sprang fully formed from the depths of Jim's imagination. His hand trembled on the receiver. He quickly finished the call and hung up, hoping he'd given the address clearly enough for the delivery guy to find them. 

He tried to breathe deeply, to clear his mind, to expunge the erotic, forbidden pictures crowding his thoughts. But the air rattled in his lungs, with labored effort. His chest was tight with desire, and he struggled to push it back down to the shadowy places inside him where such impossible feelings could lurk harmlessly in secret. He tried to pry away his attention from what was happening in the bathroom, the rough, wet slide of a cotton wash cloth over firm flesh, the slick glide of soapy fingers over smooth skin. But it was an aural banquet, and his senses stayed on automatic pilot, hungry, determined, attuned to Blair like nothing he'd ever experienced. 

Jim shook from the force of his sudden, uncontrollable need. He took a step toward the bathroom and then another and another. He no longer simply _felt_ want. He had _become_ it, an elemental force, undeterrable. The longstanding disjuncture between what he did and how he felt began to disappear. Images collided in his brain, fast and furious. Blair on his knees, open to him, ready to be taken, needing to be possessed. Blair moving aggressively above him, parting _his_ thighs, claiming _him_ , taking _him_. Blair, nude and beautiful and eager. Blair, demanding and hungry and forceful. Blair. He moved closer still, one step followed by the next and the next. 

It was only the abrupt twist of the faucet and the empty sound of silence after the water had been turned off that jolted Jim out of his zombie state. He returned to rational thought, and quickly became ashamed of himself. He remembered how Blair had trusted him, had placed his safety, his very life in his hands, had unquestioningly agreed to come home with him, a veritable stranger, had not even bothered to lock the door as he showered. And Jim had wanted... Jim had been about to... 

The appalling realization of how close he'd come to betraying Blair's faith in him chased away the last vestiges of his desire. The barriers quickly went back up; the powerful, nameless urges were carefully walled off from his outward demeanor. By the time Blair came out of the bathroom and padded back to the spare room, Jim was once more the perfect picture of control, his erection gone, his reason returned. He had returned to the kitchen and was busying himself getting out plates and silverware. 

A few minutes later, Blair joined him in the kitchen. His hair was damp and loose around his shoulders. He wore a faded, comfortable looking pair of grey sweatpants, the drawstring pulled tightly at his waist, and a pale blue cotton shirt that he'd left unbuttoned. Blair's upper body was more developed than Jim had expected, not exactly cut, but the muscles were strong and firm, his shoulders broad, his furred chest powerful. Manly. Beautiful. Jim tried not to gawk and thanked every lucky star he had when the door bell rang and the food arrived, giving him something else to focus on. 

They were both hungrier than they'd realized and set upon the food like vultures, not talking, except for a few vague noises of satisfaction and the occasional request to pass something. Jim tried to keep his eyes on his plate, his mind on his food. But a greedy, half-starved Blair lustily enjoying his meal struck him as bizarrely erotic. He could hear the action of the man's teeth, the motion of his swallowing, the dull groans and rumbles of his stomach as he digested--all things he'd somehow taught himself to tune out with other people, usually finding it far too disgusting. But not now, not with Blair. Now, it tingled along every sensual receptor in his body. 

When they'd finally finished their dinner, Blair helped him clear away the mess and clean up the kitchen. Jim washed the dishes, and Blair stood beside him, drying and putting them away. It felt to Jim like no one had ever been that close before. With every breath, he inhaled the young man's clean, warm, honest scent. Even with the humid warmth of the dish water, he could still feel the heat radiating off Blair's body, sinking into his skin and bones and heart, searing him, making him begin to shake again, the want returning abruptly and with a vengeance. 

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. He threw down the dish cloth. "That's good for now, Chief. The rest can soak, and we'll finish them in the morning." 

Blair arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? You strike me more as the 'don't put off' type." 

"Well, you know. It's getting late and all. I think I'll grab a shower," he said, skittishly backing away. 

"Uh...okay, man," Blair said, his brow wrinkled, obviously confused. 

"I won't be long. Make yourself at home. There's more beer in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you want." 

He turned and practically ran for the safety of the bathroom. He turned on the faucet in the sink to cover the sounds of his labored breathing. When he'd regained something of his composure, he stripped off his clothes, brutally, taking no care with his erection, punishing himself. He flipped on the water in the shower, making it as cold as he could stand, and forced himself into the icy spray. The cold water stung his sensitive skin, like a million painful pin pricks all over his body. His arousal quickly died, his private parts shriveled with the cold, the desire forced back where it belonged, out of sight, out of mind. 

By the time he left the shower, he was shivering, aching from the cold. He roughly toweled himself dry and wrapped the terrycloth around his waist, holding it carefully closed. He threw open the door and made a beeline for the stairs. 

And ran smack into Blair who was waiting for him just outside the bathroom. 

"Oof." The sound escaped him as he collided with the younger man, grabbing his arms to keep from knocking him over. "Chief! Geezus, I didn't see you there." 

Blair grasped his forearms, not letting go. "My God, you're freezing. What did you do to yourself in there, Jim? I can feel the goose bumps." He began gently stroking along Jim's biceps, and Jim could feel that lazy, sweltering heat sinking into him once more, making him tremble, in a far more profound way than the cold had. "What were you trying to avoid? Huh? And why? When there's no reason to run from it." 

"Don't, Blair!" Jim said, sharply, grabbing his hands, trying to push him away. 

But Blair was the kind to push back, the sort to persist. Jim could see that. He could also see that Blair hadn't believed his hard-ass routine for a minute. Blair wasn't even remotely intimidated by him. The younger man returned his hands to Jim's shoulders, determined to touch him. 

"You know, I was _way_ beyond mortified back at the hotel when I came onto you and you freaked on me. Thought I had it all wrong, that you weren't interested. Hell, I figured you weren't even into guys and I was lucky you hadn't decked me. But then when you saved my life, the way you looked at me, like you were just so relieved and happy that I was all right, I began to think that maybe I hadn't been so mistaken after all. And then when we were in the kitchen just now, I _knew._ You want me just as much as I want you. It's just that for some bizarre reason you don't think you can let yourself have me." 

"I _can't_ have you, Blair. I _can't,_ " he declared, trying to pull free again. 

But Blair held on for all he was worth. "Yes, you _can,_ man! You _can._ If you want it and I want it, that's all it takes. That's the green light. Go for it!" 

"Stop it! Just stop it! We can't do this." 

Blair shook his head vehemently. "You've got it all wrong, Jim. From what I've seen of whatever this is that's developing between us, we can't _not_ do this." 

Anger and desire collided in Jim's blood stream, burning away the last vestiges of cold. His skin felt hot now, his pulse throbbed in his neck, and his cock, which he'd thought he'd cold-showered into submission, began to take a renewed interest in the man standing before him. Out of desperation, he shoved Blair, more forcefully than he would have if he'd been thinking clearly. Blair stumbled backwards a few steps, only managing to stay on his feet by catching the wall. 

Jim watched, frozen, as the young man nearly fell, a sick, sinking feeling riddling his gut. //That's it. That did it. He's not going to want me now that he's seen what a prick I can be. That'll be enough to drive him away, like all the rest.// There was a detached, critical part of Jim that thought this was probably for the best. The rest of him collapsed under the weight of an enormous regret, more sad, more sorry, more heartsick than he'd ever been in his life. 

The last thing Jim expected was for Blair simply to regain his balance and get back in his face, grab his arms, hang on to him, shake him with all his strength, still determined to make Jim see it his way. 

But that's exactly what he did. 

"Do you want to fight?" Blair asked, his face red, his expression urgent. "Is that what you _really_ want? To hit me? 'Cause I don't think it is. I _know_ that's not what I want. So how about it, man? How about going for what you really want for a change?" 

Jim gripped Blair's shoulders so hard he knew he must be leaving bruises, but the last thing he had the strength to do was let go. He stared into the younger man's face, searching it, for something, for answers, even though he realized he would only find them inside himself. He began sorting through all his swirling, torrid emotions, and he did find something urgent and frenzied and extreme, but it most definitely was not the urge for violence. He wanted intensely, but not to _hit_ Blair, not to _hurt_ him. He wanted... He needed... 

Jim's mouth found the answer for him, pressing itself against Blair's, opening those abundant lips, making himself at home there. //Kiss Blair. I want to kiss Blair.// And he did, thoroughly, repeatedly, breathlessly. And Blair kissed him back, with an equal appetite, filled with just as much need. Seemingly of their own volition, Jim's arms wrapped themselves around the strong, warm body plastered against his. //Mmmm. Yeah. I want to hold Blair.// And Blair returned the embrace, just as passionately. 

The towel around Jim's waist had begun to loosen, and before he could stop it, it slipped from his hips and fell to the floor. When he was naked and could feel the cottony press of Blair's semi-clothed body against his, the hard heat of Blair's erection, even through his sweat pants, searing into him, he knew what else he wanted. He began frantically to tear at the young man's shirt, pulling at the drawstring, pushing down the clothing with hands made clumsy with desire. 

Fortunately, Blair seemed to want, to need all the same things, and he helped Jim get his clothes off, shimmying his own pants and boxers down his body, kicking them off. Jim loosened his grasp just long enough to let Blair finish undressing, but when the clothes were gone, he tightened his hold again, hissing aloud at the electrifying sensation of naked skin against naked skin. //Oh, my God!// The little needy sounds pouring out of him unleashed something in Blair, and he began moving and undulating against Jim like something possessed, his hands and lips and body pressing everywhere, setting Jim's skin on fire. 

Jim's knees trembled, and he suddenly felt too weak to remain standing. He wrapped an arm around Blair's waist, holding him close against his side, and led him over to the sofa. He lay down, pulling Blair on top of him, and they went back to consuming one another. Blair's mouth and hands roamed over Jim's body at will, licking and kissing and sucking him, biting and marking tender flesh, teasing and stroking all the most sensitive places, making Jim writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

Jim returned every sensual favor, running his hands all over Blair's body, exploring his back, his belly, the soft skin on the insides of his thighs, his furred chest, his hard, responsive little nipples, causing Blair to cry out as he toyed with the silver hoop threaded through one of them. 

The more they kissed and touched and gave to each other, the more the barriers between outside and inside collapsed for Jim. All the things he'd long desired but resisted--and so many, many other desires he never even suspected he had--began welling up to the surface, taking on a life of their own, demanding expression in the world. He found himself spreading his thighs for his lover, making a place for him, hooking one leg over the back of the sofa and propping up the other on the coffee table, offering what he'd never given anyone, ashamed even when he touched himself there. 

It had been one thing to accept that he was gay and quite another to deal with this...this urge to be taken, possessed, penetrated, filled. All the other guys he'd been with had believed the bluff of his exterior and had just taken for granted that he would be the aggressor. They'd just expected that he'd take _them,_ possess _them,_ fill _them,_ never once suspecting that he wanted to experience all that for himself. 

But Blair did not appear even remotely surprised. He knelt on the sofa cushions between Jim's splayed legs, ghosting his hands over his chest and belly and thighs, tenderly, worshipfully. "Oh yeah, Jim. Is this what you want, man? Is this what you need?" he asked, lightly circling his thumb around the opening to Jim's body. 

Jim could only manage a small, strangled sound in the back of his throat as Blair touched him _there,_ the noise affirmative and insistent, still tinged with a little shame that _this_ was what drove him totally wild, that there was _anything_ he needed this badly. 

Blair shook his head, seeming to understand without being told. "Oh, no, man, no. It's okay to want things, to need things. Whoever told you it wasn't, they were wrong, Jim. We _all_ want something. _I_ want to do this," he said, stringing a line of dry kisses, soft as petals, along the inside of Jim's leg, from knee to the crease of his thigh. "And this," he said, repeating the gesture on the other leg. "I need _this,_ " he murmured huskily and pressed a light, chaste kiss to Jim's opening. "And this," he whispered and began to make love with his mouth to Jim's most private place. 

Under Blair's insistent, erotic ministrations, Jim could feel his body opening, the walls inside him crumbling, all the need and want surging out. 

"Blair!" 

But his lover didn't stop. 

"Blair, please! I want... I need..." 

That finally got the young man's attention, and he lifted his head. 

"You're sure?" 

"Yes," Jim said, his muscles trembling, his insides aching. 

"Okay. Okay, Jim," Blair murmured, but then he began to move away. 

Jim grabbed his wrist. "No!" 

Blair caressed his hands, easing his grip. "I'll be right back. Right back. Promise. Trust me?" 

Habit made Jim need to stop to think about it, but he finally nodded and released his lover. Blair was true to his word, racing into his bedroom and quickly hurrying back. 

He settled between Jim's legs again. "Just had to get the condoms and lube, man. I want to make it good for you, and I need to keep you safe." 

Jim heard the pop of the tube, and then Blair's hands were on him once more, fingers stroking his center, gently pressing inside. He tensed at first, more out of habit than anything else. 

"Shhh. It's okay. Just let go. I'll take care of you," Blair crooned to him, and he began to relax. 

Blair's fingers moved deeper inside him, twisting, stroking, opening him. 

"Let it go, let it go," Blair murmured. 

Jim whimpered, the most needy sound that had ever come out of him. 

Blair changed angles and stroked a place inside him that felt like he was touching fire. 

"Ahhh! God! Blair!" Jim screamed. "Do it again. Please, please." 

"Oh, yeah, baby. Yeah," Blair said, his voice as smooth as a caress. 

Blair's fingers massaged that magic spot, and Jim's cock, lying on his belly in a puddle of his own cum, jerked and quivered with each touch. 

"Blair!" 

His lover just kept stroking inside him. 

"I need..." Jim tried to say. 

"What, lover? What do you need?" 

"I want..." 

"What do you want, Jim?" 

"I want you to fuck me! Now!" 

Blair smiled and gently withdrew his fingers. "All you ever had to do was ask." 

Jim's chest heaved up and down with excitement, anticipation and a little fear. He watched Blair rip open the foil packet and roll the condom onto his erection, liberally spreading lube all over himself. 

"I want you to fuck me," Jim repeated, trying to convey something important with that, although he wasn't entirely sure what. 

Blair's eyes darkened, and Jim thought that he must somehow, miraculously have understood. "I'm going to fuck you and so much more, Jim." 

With that, Blair pushed inside him, and finally, Jim felt the lifelong emptiness beginning to recede. 

"Yes, more. More, please," Jim chanted. 

But Blair wouldn't be rushed. He eased inside Jim little by little, careful not to hurt him, until finally his balls rested against Jim's ass and they were fully joined. Blair pulled back onto his knees a little and began to move gently inside him. 

"So good," Jim told him. "So, so good." 

Jim started to reach for his cock, but Blair pushed his hand away. 

"That's mine," the younger man warned him. 

Blair set a steady rhythm, thrusting neither too fast nor too hard, making it last. He moved up on his arms and rounded his back, taking Jim's cock in his hand. 

"I promised you more," he told Jim. "And I always keep my promises." 

With a degree of flexibility Jim would not have guessed was possible, Blair leaned all the way over and took his cock in his mouth. Jim moaned out loud. It was too much, too perfect, a complete connection. Blair was in him, and he was in Blair--the way he somehow knew it was meant to be. He thrust into Blair's mouth, and Blair thrust into his ass. He felt singed by joy, every nerve ending in his body alive and awake and erupting with heated pleasure. It was awkward and even a little difficult to get it right at first, but as they approached orgasm, they found their rhythm, moving together in mutual need, bringing each other to trembling fulfillment. Jim came in his lover's mouth, and Blair swallowed his cum, happily, greedily. Then it was Blair's turn, and he came inside Jim, his whole body shaking, screaming his head off. 

After it was over, Blair managed to remove the condom, and then he collapsed on top of Jim, sated, worn out, exhausted from what had proven to be the most eventful day of his life. Jim felt weirdly calm, as close to peace as he'd ever come. He wrapped his arms around Blair's back, twining their legs together, stroking his lover's hair. There was something light and fluttering moving against his ribs, and he thought, quite possibly, that it might be happiness. 

"That was so good," Blair murmured groggily against his ear. "So good." 

Jim pulled him closer. 

"Tomorrow... Tomorrow, you do me, okay, man?" Blair said, already beginning to fade. "Then you can tell me what's been going on with your senses, huh? Thought I forgot, didn't you? But I didn't. Never forget important stuff..." Blair trailed off. 

Jim shook his head. Somehow, he suspected Blair was going to prove more than a handful. He fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

* * *

[Continued in part two](unlikelyceo_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.

## The Unlikely CEO

by Annabelle Leigh with Shar

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

* * *

The Unlikely CEO - part two   
by Annabelle Leigh (with Shar) 

Sometimes coming awake was a slow languid journey to awareness and other times, it was an adrenaline rush--overpowering and frightening. Thankfully, most days since leaving the army, Jim experienced a slow glide into awareness, his body running checks as it gradually came on-line, ready to start a new day. 

But not this morning. 

Every muscle in his body snapped to awareness, his senses attuned and on alert, all at once. The reason for this rude awakening became instantly apparent as he looked down at the compact body blanketing his own and memories of the previous twenty-four hours, especially last night, flooded back to him. 

Blair lay sprawled over him, completely at home, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hair fanned out across Jim's chest, his full lips parted in soft, contented snores. Blair's arms and legs were splayed, tangled in Jim's, a warm and comforting weight. The afghan from the back of the couch covered them, and Jim vaguely recalled pulling it over them, the last thing he'd managed last night before following Blair into sleep. 

It took an effort of will to even out his respiration, to command his heart to stop its wild, staccato pounding. But when he did have his body under control again and could risk it, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to really _feel_ Blair's sweet weight on top of him. He breathed in deeply and listened carefully, cataloging and sorting the sensory data, letting it imprint itself on him, at the level of his cells, letting it seep into his bones and comfort him, a balm to his weary soul. He knew he could very easily grow used to this if he let himself, and that scared the shit out of him, for him and for Blair. 

He silently cursed himself for his carelessness and stupidity. Blair was his damned _responsibility,_ and it was a responsibility he couldn't afford to take lightly. He knew that, and yet last night...well, last night Blair had touched a place in his heart that he'd really believed was stony and unreachable. Blair had broken him open, seemingly effortlessly, as if by instinct, knowing just what to do and say to unleash him. Things between them had gone _way_ too far, become _way_ too personal. Last night, he'd wanted it all, every last touch, every further intimacy. But now, in the grey, unforgiving light of the Cascade morning, he saw how terribly wrong it had been to let his wants run away with his reason. He couldn't afford to become involved in such a deeply personal way with this young man--at least, not until whoever was trying to kill him was brought to justice. Then, and only then, could he entertain allowing the kind of closeness that he craved so desperately. 

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim called to him, more loudly than he probably should have. "Rise and shine. You've got a meeting today and shareholders to persuade. Time to make good on those ideas." 

Blair jolted awake, spitting out a stray curl that had found its way into his mouth, his head jerking up in surprise. "Wha--oh...geez, Jim...did you have to shout?" Blair groused, flopping back down onto his protector's chest, feigning casual, relaxed sleepy-headedness. But Jim could hear how his heart hammered in his chest, could smell the sudden flood of his anxiety, understood that his cool reaction this morning was alarming the young man. 

But it couldn't be helped. 

He gripped Blair's bare arms and shifted him off his body, so that the young man stood naked in front of him, his morning erection jutting out from his lightly furred body. A deep flush crept along Blair's golden skin, and Jim couldn't help thinking that he'd never seen anyone look so shy and so wanton at the same time. He forced himself to shove down the emphatic surge of desire and quickly scrambled up from the sofa, afghan firmly in hand, desperate to escape Blair's close proximity. 

"I'll fix us some eggs, Chief. You go get cleaned up and then I will," he said, wrapping the multi-colored blanket around his hips, with nervous, jerky movements, making a break for the kitchen. 

He could feel Blair watching him, taking the measure of his discomfort, and then the young man followed him into the kitchen. He couldn't keep himself from jumping when Blair reached out and lightly touched his bare shoulder. 

"Jim?" he said. "We gotta talk, man." 

"No time, Chief. We need to get a move on." 

"Don't do that." 

"What?" 

"Pretend like last night never happened, not when your regret is so big and palpable it's like a presence in the room with us." 

Jim sighed and turned to make a retort, some biting comment that would put an end to the discussion once and for all, but he stopped as soon as he saw Blair's face. The young man was doing his best to keep his expression neutral and stoic, but he didn't have the same experience Jim did with hiding his feelings. It was plain just how hurt he was. 

"Shit," he said. "It's not that... I just made a mistake, okay, Chief? I let this situation get away from me, and that's not like me. I'm sorry. I've acted very irresponsibly with you, and that's really unforgivable. But I swear it won't happen again. I need to be completely focused on your safety, and from now on, I promise I will be." 

He'd hoped to reassure Blair somehow with this little speech, but instead, the young man only appeared more distraught. 

"How can you just turn off like that, man? Last night, you were begging for it, and today, you're all cold and distant, Mr. Business-as-Usual. Well, I don't change gears that fast. You can tell yourself that last night was a mistake all you want, but it _wasn't_. And I think we both know that." 

"Maybe it wouldn't have been under different circumstances," he said. "But--" 

"Bullshit! Everything happens for a reason, Jim. I told you that yesterday when we were talking, and I'm sticking by it now. I know you're not so dense that you've missed the really, really significant thing that's happening between us. From the first moment at the airport, there were sparks, man. I'm talking supernova here. Worlds colliding, stars moving into alignment, some serious ass mojo. Hell, the earth practically shook beneath our feet. Don't even try to deny it. I _saw_ that look you gave me when you turned around and realized I was the guy you were supposed to protect. I thought you'd gone into shock there for a minute. When has that ever happened to you before? I'm betting never. Because this kind of thing doesn't happen every day. It's like this huge gift the universe is offering up on a silver platter. We can't just ignore it." 

"Blair, someone nearly killed you yesterday. They've tried before, and they'll try again. I can't afford to get caught up in thinking about how much I want you, how good your mouth felt on my dick, how much I'd like you to fuck me when I'm supposed to be watching out for you. Do you understand that? It only takes a minute. If I'm tuned out, planning when we can get naked again, it could get you dead. And more than anything I might _want_ from you, I _need_ you to be safe. I _need_ to protect you. Okay?" 

"See? That's exactly what I mean. Did you ever stop to wonder why you're so frantic about my welfare? I mean, I know it's your job and all, but do you get this worked up, this emotionally invested in looking out for your other clients? My guess is no, not to this extent. And that's because this isn't just a job. It's not just about sex. This could be something really special. This could be a long time thing." 

"Not if you're dead," Jim said, his voice soft and a little choked. 

Blair grabbed his arm. "That's not going to happen." 

"That's right, Chief. It's not, because I'm not going to let it. So as long as the danger's out there, I've got to keep it professional and keep my mind on the job. No negotiation. That's the way it's got to be." 

"What about...what happens after you catch whoever's doing this?" 

"Blair, I can't--" 

"Just...keep an open mind about it, huh? Please? You don't have to make me any promises. Just give me a chance. Let me prove to you how good it can be between us." 

A hundred and one reasons why it would never work flashed through Jim's head: all the differences between them, Jim's lousy track record with relationships and just about everything else, the freakish mess with his senses, the simple fact that Blair deserved so much better. But the look on Blair's face was pleading and earnest and way too vulnerable for Jim to risk hurting him with an outright rejection. 

"Okay. An open mind. But _after_ we catch whoever is responsible for these attempts on your life. Understood?" 

Blair nodded wildly. "Sure, man, Thanks!" he said and launched himself at Jim, hugging him fiercely. 

Blair was still naked, and Jim was nearly so. The feel of Blair's skin against his set off his senses like a fireworks display. He gently but firmly detached the young man and pushed him away. 

"You need to..." he broke off and waved his hand at Blair, indicating his nudity, hoping Blair would understand that he really needed him to go get dressed before keeping things professional became inhumanly difficult. 

Blair sighed. "Okay, man. We'll do it your way. For now. But once we figure out who's responsible and take care of them, we're gonna get naked and stay that way for a good, long time. There won't be any negotiation about _that,_ either." 

Blair turned and headed for the bathroom. Jim stared after him, not nearly the paragon of professional detachment he would have liked to be, appreciating, against his better judgment, the enticing motion of Blair's ass as he walked away. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of the jumbled erotic images assaulting him. He pressed his hard on against the cool wood of the cabinets, hoping it would subside, wondering how he was ever going to keep his mind off Blair's body long enough to focus on his safety. 

//You can start by concentrating on breakfast instead of visually molesting his ass.// 

Jim sighed. Resisting Blair was going to be a hell of a lot more difficult than he ever imagined. //It might help if you were wearing something more than a blanket wrapped around your waist.// He shook his head at himself and went upstairs to change into his robe. He threw the afghan into the laundry basket at the bottom of his closet. It had both his cum and Blair's on it, and somehow he doubted he'd ever be able to look at it again without getting hard. 

He headed back downstairs to the kitchen and took the ingredients he needed for breakfast out of the refrigerator. He cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a little milk until they were light and foamy, ready for scrambling. He melted butter in a frying pan, tossed the bread into the toaster, started the eggs. He heard Blair leave the bathroom and go back to the spare room. It occurred to him that Blair had never even made it in there to sleep last night. //Don't go there, Jimbo.// He reprimanded himself. //Don't even get in the same zip code with that thought.// 

Blair emerged from the spare room freshly dressed in a pair of tan slacks, a crisp white shirt, tweed jacket and tie. Jim was a little surprised by the transformation, but he supposed an anthropologist would make it a point to fit into his environment, to honor the local customs, whether it was in the Amazon or the corporate board room. 

"What can I do to help with breakfast?" Blair asked. 

"Uh, well, you can grab the jam out of the refrigerator for me." 

"Got it." 

"You want coffee?" 

"That would be great." 

Jim took a mug out of the cabinet and poured the coffee for him. "Milk? Sugar?" 

"Nah, just black. If I could take it intravenously, I would." 

"Tired, huh?" 

A smile played on Blair's lips. "It was a big day yesterday." 

"Blair--" 

The young man held up a hand in mock surrender. "I'm just saying it was hectic. You know, long flight, getting shot at, and well...meeting you. It exhausted me," he said, his expression innocent, but his voice really quite wicked. 

"Blair, we said--" 

Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "But we never said I had to like it. And I _never_ promised I'd make it easy for you to turn away from me. I want it to be as hard for you as it is for me." 

"We talked about this. I thought you understood. I'm just trying to do what's best, to take care of you. I'm not turning away from you." 

"I know that's what you said. But Jim," Blair said, moving closer to him, putting his hand on his arm. "We're meant to be together. We're a team. I feel it. The more connected we are the safer we'll be. I just know it." 

Jim firmly pushed him away. "You know, Chief, I think you take all this 'meant to be' stuff a little too seriously sometimes. Look, we had an agreement, and I expect you to abide by it. Got it?" 

Blair sighed and pushed out his lips in what looked suspiciously like a pout. But he said, "Yeah, Jim, I got it." 

"Now go eat your breakfast before it gets cold," he said. 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad." 

"Don't get fresh with me, Junior." 

"That's so not funny, man." 

Blair sat down at the table and helped himself to a hearty portion of eggs and three pieces of toast. He buttered his bread and slathered on some raspberry jam. Jim watched him and tried not to think how attractive he found a man with a healthy appetite. 

"I still haven't forgotten about that other thing, you know," Blair informed him matter-of-factly as he devoured his breakfast. 

"What?" Jim asked blankly, falling back on the skills he'd learned in Covert Ops, feeling vaguely guilty for pulling that kind of crap with Blair. 

Blair, however, could see through him far better than foreign operatives had ever been able to. "Don't bullshit me, man. You know exactly what I'm talking about. I want to hear everything that's been going on with your senses." 

"There's nothing--" 

Blair threw his fork down. "If you're so concerned about looking out for me, then you can damned well be straight with me. Now, tell me how you could see and hear the shooter yesterday when he was clear across the street in another building. Tell me about these headaches you've been having. Tell me when all this started happening. Hell, tell me everything. I mean it. And don't think I won't know if you leave stuff out. I will." 

"Blair, it's not..." he fumbled, trying to explain. "I just don't talk about this. Not with anyone." 

"Ever?" 

Jim's jaw clenched. 

Blair leaned forward. "So you did tell somebody sometime." 

"Yeah." 

"Who?" 

"A doctor back in the army, somebody I thought I could trust. That's how I ended up discharged. He found me medically unfit to serve. I suppose I should feel lucky it wasn't for mental instability. I know that's what he really thought." 

"Oh, Jim. I'm sorry." 

"Look, Chief, it's a chronic condition, but I deal with it. I swear I'm not crazy. And I promise it won't get in the way of my protecting you. If I thought it would, I'd turn the case over to someone else. I swear to God." 

"I'm not worried about that, Jim. I feel safe with you. I have since I first got off the plane and you were waiting there for me. I have no doubt you'll take care of me. But I am worried about _you_. I saw what that headache did to you. I don't want you suffering." 

"There's no help for it. Nobody knows what this thing is. When I first got out of the army, I thought maybe I could get treatment and then get my career back. I saw doctors, specialists. They tried stuff, gave me pills. One quack wanted to do electric shock therapy. It was all I could do not to deck the guy. Finally, I just had to accept that no one knows how to diagnose this...whatever it is, and no one can cure it." 

"What if that's the problem? What if it's not _supposed_ to be cured? Because it's not an illness or a condition, but a gift." 

Jim grimaced. "I can promise you it's no gift, Chief." 

"Because you don't know how to control it. Because people have made you feel like some kind of freak. But what if it's perfectly natural? What if it's the way you were meant to be? What if it's your legacy?" 

"I'm sorry, Chief. You're losing me here." 

"Sorry, man. That's my fault. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll explain, but I need more information first. Are you experiencing loud noises that shouldn't be loud? Can you see and smell things other people can't? Taste buds off the chart?" 

Jim nodded, beginning to feel a little encouraged despite himself. "Yeah, Chief, all of it. Have you seen it before?" 

"No, but I've always hoped to. But I need to ask you one more thing to make sure you're the real deal. Is your tactile sense...are you, you know, extra touchy feely? I mean, last night, was it..." 

Jim blushed, the second time he'd done that in less than twenty-four hours, since he'd known Blair. 

"Did I hurt you?" Blair asked, looking stricken. 

Jim shook his head. "You know you didn't. It was the only time...it never felt good like that before. I never _enjoyed_ having the...whatever it is, like I did with you." 

"God, I'm glad," Blair said, smiling, looking both relieved and pleased. 

"So do you know what's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing." 

"But the senses--" 

"Are just the way they're supposed to be. You're a Sentinel, man. A living, breathing, honest-to-God Sentinel. And that's just fantastic! I've been looking for you for...I can't even tell you how long. And here you are, finally." 

"What _are_ you talking about? What the _hell_ is a Sentinel?" Jim asked, getting edgy, not sharing Blair's enthusiasm. 

"Don't get uptight, man. Let me explain. In all tribal cultures, every village had what was called a Sentinel, a watchman who patrolled the borders, looked out for the enemy, tracked game. The tribe's very survival depended on them." 

"What's this got to do with me?" 

"Sentinels were chosen because they had a genetic advantage, a sensory awareness that far surpassed that of other humans. These latent abilities usually came out in response to some kind of traumatic isolation in the wilderness." 

"Peru." 

"What?" 

"I was stranded in Peru for eighteen months. The other members of my team...they didn't make it. It was just me and the local tribe. I organized them, tried to finish the mission. I spent long stretches of time alone in the jungle, patrolling and doing reconnaissance." 

"That must be when your senses were first triggered." 

"I suppose that's possible. I can't really know for sure. Everything about my time in Peru is pretty fuzzy. I barely remember anything." 

"Well, it certainly sounds traumatic, and repression of memory is a natural defense against psychological trauma." 

"So you're saying that because I was out there in the jungle I turned into this...what'd you call it again?" 

"A Sentinel. And no, it didn't turn you into one. It just awakened what had always been part of you. It helped you become what you were intended to be. A protector, a guardian, a watchman. A Sentinel. God, I can't believe I'm sitting here across the table from you, the living embodiment of all my work. What a head rush! You can't imagine." 

Jim pushed back from the table and began to pace. "I don't really understand what you're so excited about. From what you've said, I'm some kind of freakish anomaly, a throwback, a veritable caveman, for God's sake. _I'm_ not especially pleased by that prospect, I've got to tell you." 

Blair stood up and walked over to him, grabbing his arms, trying to calm him. "No, man. You're looking at it all wrong. It's an amazing human potential that I'd really begun to believe had been lost from the gene pool. But it hasn't. You exist. You're a miracle." 

"I don't feel like much of a miracle, Chief. I'm confused and out of control and in pain a lot of the time." 

"I know, I know, Jim." 

"I really don't know how this could be of any benefit to anyone. It doesn't make me an effective protector. In fact, it's a distraction and a liability." 

"Only because you haven't learned how to use it, because you've been on your own with it. Ancient Sentinels had a partner, a Guide, someone to watch their backs, to help them use their senses more effectively, to bring them out of it when they zoned." 

"What's a zone?" 

"Do you ever get so caught up in one of your senses that you get lost in it, go into a kind of trance, lose time?" 

Jim nodded. "Yeah. That's happened," he said, trying to minimize how often, not wanting Blair to worry about his ability to keep him safe. 

"That's a zone out. It's basically sensory overload that disrupts your ability to attend to other things. As long as you have someone to bring you out of it, it's pretty harmless. But obviously, it can be really dangerous if you don't have somebody looking out for you." 

"And I'm guessing you believe that you're this person...what did you call it again? The Guide?" 

Blair smiled. "Now you're getting the picture. Think about it, man. What are the odds? My grandfather leaves me his company, the last person who ever had any interest in it. I come back to Cascade to take it over. Someone's trying to _kill_ me so I need somebody to protect me. And there you are, a living, breathing Sentinel, the key to all my research." 

"You're reaching, Blair. I'm probably not even one of these...these Sentinels of yours. I'm just a washed up ex-army captain trying to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. I'm hardly this guardian figure you're describing." 

"Don't do that, Jim. I hate it when you sell yourself short. Think about your career choices. You went into the army, to protect and serve your country. Now you're a security consultant, looking out for people in trouble." 

"That's just--" 

"No. Think about your feelings towards me, how instantly protective you were. You risked your life to save mine back at the hotel." 

"That's my job." 

"No, it's your purpose. Even without any help or anyone to understand what you were going through, you've still instinctively acted out your protector role. You _are_ a Sentinel, Jim. I'm the foremost expert there is on this subject. I've read every source, every obscure reference, and I'm telling you that this is what's going on with you." 

"Then how do I get rid of it?" 

"Ah, man, don't say that. It's not a disease or a curse. It's who you are." 

"Well, it's not who I _want_ to be." 

"That's because it's been painful and upsetting up to this point. But I'm here now. I can help you. We can work on your senses, help you get a handle on them, learn to use them to their best advantage, to help people, to do good." 

"I don't know what to think about all this, Chief." 

"I know, Jim. It must sound wacky, and you have no real reason to trust me. But that's what I'm asking you to do. Please. I need you to stay open to the possibility, to have some faith, to let me help you." 

There was a light and hopeful place in Jim that wanted nothing more than to believe that finally there was an answer, help for his condition, a way out of the blinding pain and confusion. But the old, entrenched wariness could not be overthrown simply because of a single conversation, no matter how much his instincts screamed at him to trust Blair. 

"Tell me this," Blair said. "Do you think I have any ulterior motive here? Do you think I would ever hurt you or lie to you or take advantage of you?" 

He shook his head, with confidence. "No, Chief. I know you wouldn't." 

"Then take the leap, Jim. Put your faith in me. Trust me to do what's right by you, to help you gain control of your senses." 

Jim only had to consider a moment. "Okay, Chief. I can do that." 

"Great!" Blair said, his whole face lighting up. He threw himself into Jim's arms, hugged him and kissed his cheek. 

It took Jim a moment to remember he wasn't supposed to let himself enjoy it. "Chief--" 

Blair pulled back. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Not until after we catch this guy or guys or whoever. So let's get started, man, let's figure out who's doing this and bring them down. I want to get on with my life, with us." 

"Just remember. We keep it professional until then. You'll help me with the Sentinel thing, and I'll protect you. But that's it." 

Blair sighed, but finally gave in. "Okay." 

"Good. Now I'm going to go get ready, and then we'll check out the situation over at Sandburg Enterprises. Make sure the premises are secure for the shareholders meeting. I don't want any surprises." 

Blair nodded, and Jim headed for the bathroom. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief," he said, turning back to the younger man. 

"I'm going along with this keeping it impersonal thing because you're the security expert and I believe you when you say it's necessary. But I need you to understand what this whole Sentinel and Guide things means. It means we're _partners,_ man, in every sense of the word. It's how it's supposed to be. It's how I want it to be. And if you're really honest with yourself, it's how _you_ want it to be, too. So when this is all over, we're going to need to do some serious talking about what we are to each other and where we go from here. Because there _will_ be an us. That's the one thing that will never be up for discussion. I just want to make sure we're clear on that." 

Jim stared at Blair, standing there with such determination, speaking with such passion, and words deserted him in the face of such overwhelming conviction. The best he could manage was to nod, understanding somewhere in the depths of his being that this young man had already become his life. 

* * *

Not since he'd walked out of his father's house when he was eighteen years old, turning his back on that world, had Jim seen so many people who were so unapologetically rich all gathered together in one place. He glanced over at Blair who was fidgeting nervously at his side, his eyes wide and innocently hopeful, and Jim felt a sudden warm rush of solicitude for him. For a crazy second, he honestly contemplated taking him by the arm and dragging him out of there, before the piranhas could sink their vicious teeth into him. Perhaps he might even have done it if Blair wouldn't have misinterpreted it as a lack of confidence in his abilities, rather than the simple recognition that rich people were all the same and never to be trusted. He knew, even if Blair didn't, that these investors would tear him to shreds at the slightest provocation, without a second thought or even a pang of conscience, without disturbing the smiles on their artificially prettified faces. 

He watched Blair curiously scanning the room, taking it all in, his face open and friendly. He quickly realized that such a warning would do no good anyway, that it was pointless to try to rescue Blair. The man insisted on seeing the best in everyone. He, himself, had been the beneficiary of that optimistic good will ever since they met. Jim would never convince him that his open-heartedness was wasted on these people, that they were too greedy and mean-spirited to appreciate it. 

The investors meeting was already their second stop of the morning. Before that, they had gone down to the police station as they'd promised Captain Banks, to give their official statement about yesterday's shooting. Jim had met Rafe and Brown, the detectives who would be heading up the security detail. Despite his initial territorial reaction about protecting Blair, he was actually grateful to have backup, and the two men struck him as competent and reliable. They, along with several uniformed officers under their command, accompanied them to the investor's meeting and were now strategically stationed around the large conference room. Jim and all the police officers wore headsets, so they could stay in constant radio contact. 

"Let's do a quick sweep," Jim said into his microphone. 

"North entrance clear," Rafe said. 

"West quadrant clear," one of the uniformed officers said. 

"East quadrant clear," said another. 

"South entrance clear," a third reported. 

"The exterior hallway is clear," Brown said. 

"Okay, everyone, the meeting's going to start in a few minutes," Jim told them. "Hold those positions. I'm going to stick with Mr. Sandburg." 

"Copy," Rafe answered. 

"Everything looks good," Jim told Blair. "You don't have anything to worry about while you're up there. " 

"Except for fainting or having a heart attack," Blair said, trying to make a joke of it, but only managing a half-hearted little laugh. 

Jim squeezed his shoulder. "You're gonna be great." 

"I hope so," Blair said, nervously chewing his lower lip. "There's a lot riding on this, people's livelihoods, precious natural resources, the future of the company." 

Jim smiled at him. "Don't you think you might be putting a little too much pressure on yourself, Chief?" 

Blair sighed. "I know, I know, man. I get kind of overwrought sometimes. I know it doesn't help anything, but I can't--" 

"Well, if it isn't my dear cousin Blair," a woman's voice called out. "How've you been, cuz? Taking good care of yourself, I hope. We need our fearless leader in tip-top condition, you know." 

Even if she hadn't called Blair her cousin, Jim would immediately have recognized the woman from his description of her. Marissa seemed to be about Blair's age, but without his sweet guilelessness. Instead, she was sleek and fashionable, her long blonde hair elegantly styled in a French twist, with curls framing her face to set off her blue eyes and high cheek bones to their best advantage. She wore a blue sweater, made of some soft looking material that molded to her figure in a strategic way that Jim realized was no accident. She was the kind of woman he recognized all too easily from his youth, when he'd moved in Cascade's social circles--all warm and disarming on the outside, made of something far harder and colder on the inside. He'd never liked women like that, not because of their hardness which he didn't begrudge them, but because of their constant and purposeful duplicity, always trying to seem like something they weren't to gain the upper hand. 

"Marissa," Blair said, greeting his cousin, sounding more guarded than Jim had ever heard him. 

"Elliot and Andrew were coming in just behind me. They should be here soon. We're all very eager to hear what you have to say, cuz." 

"I'm sure you are," Blair said. 

"Now, Blair, where are you manners? You haven't introduced me to your handsome friend here," Marissa chastised, clicking her tongue, turning to Jim with a warm spark of interest in her eyes. 

"I'm Jim Ellison, ma'am, with Cascade Security. I'm in charge of Mr. Sandburg's protection," he said, offering his hand. 

She shook it, her thumb caressing his knuckles, very lightly, just for a moment, a subtle tease. Jim smiled at her pleasantly, all the while thinking what a barracuda she must be. 

"Mr. Ellison. It's so nice to meet you," she said and smiled luminously, with just enough of a practiced air that Jim could tell it was part of her repertoire, one of her many man-snares. 

"Jim, please," he told her. 

"And I do wish you'd call me Marissa." 

"It would be an honor." 

"Now, Jim, let me ask you. You don't really think my dear cousin is in any danger, do you? I mean, these little...incidents were upsetting, certainly, but I'm sure they were no more than accidents. I mean, who could possibly want to harm our darling Blair?" 

"I couldn't say, Marissa. The police are investigating the accidents. I'm simply providing security." 

"Ah, well, I thought I'd ask while I had the opportunity." 

"I don't suppose you know anyone who might have a grudge against him?" Jim asked. 

Marissa laughed. "Me? Not likely. I'm afraid Blair and I don't exactly run in the same circles." 

"Well, if you happen to think of anything--" 

"You'll be the first to know, Jim," she promised. "Oh, here come Elliot and Andrew," she said and waved them over. 

"Great," Blair muttered under his breath, too softly for anyone but a Sentinel to hear him. 

The two Sandburg brothers bore a striking resemblance to one another, almost as if they were older and younger versions of the same person. Elliot looked exactly like what Blair had said he was, an amply paid corporate attorney with one of the slick, old money firms that had their mahogany paneled offices in the high rise buildings that dotted Cascade's skyline. He was impeccably dressed in a grey pinstripe suit that spoke of English tailoring. The younger Sandburg had the same prominent forehead and weak chin as his brother, but there was nothing even remotely serious about him. He had the carefree air of a play boy, a twenty year old trust fund baby living the high life. Neither one of the men seemed anything like Blair; they had none of his character. They didn't particularly remind him of their sister either; they had none of her grit. 

"Marissa," Elliot said, kissing his sister on the cheek. "So good to see you." 

"Elliot," she said and then turned to her other brother. "Andrew." 

He also leaned forward and gave Marissa a quick peck on the cheek. The greetings among the siblings were stiff and perfunctory all the way around. They might disapprove of Blair, but they didn't seem particularly fond of one another either. 

"Look who I ran into," Marissa said to her brothers. "Cousin Blair was just psyching himself up to address the troops." 

Andrew laughed. "I hope you're prepared to be eaten alive, cuz. The least whiff of anything that might affect the stock price, and they'll tear your throat out." 

"I'm afraid Andrew's right, Blair," Elliot agreed. "You really have no idea what you're getting yourself into, but it's not too late to let us advise you. We do have years of experience with the company which I really think you'd find useful. In fact, I'd be happy to handle the meeting for you today. I took the liberty of working up some notes, some ideas I had for the direction we could take in the next fiscal year, areas of profit that we haven't yet maximized. It would be no trouble for me to step in for you. I mean, we are family, after all. I'm only too glad to help out." 

"That's such a heartwarming sentiment, Elliot," Blair said, not a little sarcastically. "And while I appreciate the offer, grandfather left controlling interest of the company to me. This is my responsibility, and I plan to see it through. Not to mention that I have my own ideas for the future of Sandburg Enterprises." 

Andrew flushed angrily. "Grandfather left the company to you, because he completely lost whatever was left of his mind there at the end." 

"Andrew!" Marissa reprimanded him. 

"Oh, please. You know it's true. He talked endlessly about taking our profits and giving back to people who needed it. The man was delusional. Hell, he thought he was fucking Robin Hood." 

"That's enough! You will _not_ talk about Grandfather that way," Marissa insisted, sounding genuinely upset. 

"I don't agree with Andrew's timing in bringing all this up again, but we all know that Grandfather was not the same man at the end of his life," Elliot said. 

"He reconsidered some things," Marissa said, not yielding. 

"Ris, his senility showed not just in the way he ran the company, but in many other ways, as well. I mean, he was always such an avid sportsman, a lifelong hunter, and suddenly he couldn't bear the thought of it anymore. He had the staff take down all his trophies. He got rid of his guns and wouldn't even eat meat or allow it to be served in his home," Elliot said. 

"He said he regretted that he ever took a life," Marissa said. 

"A lot of people get a broader sense of perspective at the end of their lives," Blair said. 

"Yes, that's true," Marissa said. 

"That may be, but Grandfather was a loon, plain and simple," Andrew said. 

"He does seem to have lost touch with his reason in some regards," Elliot said. 

"That's the understatement of the century. He left the company to _Blair,_ for God's sake. If that's not proof positive of his insanity, I don't know what is." 

"Well, unfortunately for you, Andrew, the probate court didn't share that opinion," Blair said, his voice cool and unruffled, even though Jim could hear his heart thundering in his chest. 

"Why you--" Andrew sputtered angrily. 

Jim interrupted him, figuring Blair had probably endured enough of his family. "Mr. Sandburg, we really should really discuss a few last minute security issues. If you wouldn't mind?" he asked, putting a hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"No, no. Of course not, Jim," he quickly agreed, and then said to his cousins, "If you'll excuse me." 

"Good luck, Blair," Marissa said, without a lot of enthusiasm and then she turned to Jim. "I hope we can spend some time together later, get to know one another better," she said to him, her voice appreciably warmer. 

"I'd enjoy that," Jim lied and steered Blair away from them. 

He guided him to a quiet spot where hopefully Blair could have a moment of peace to collect his thoughts before his speech. 

When they couldn't be overheard, Blair said, "Thanks for the save." 

"No problem." 

"So that's my family." 

Jim shook his head. "And they're pretty much as you described them. Unfortunately." 

"You didn't seem to mind Marissa so much," Blair said, and there was something in his voice that made Jim pause. 

"What--" he started to ask, but was interrupted by a group of suits descending on Blair. 

"Sandburg! We've been looking all over for you," complained a fiftyish, ruddy complexioned man who stationed himself directly in their path, obviously with no intention of moving. 

"What do you need, Brett?" Blair asked, and Jim realized this must be Brett Carney, the company's president. 

"It seems your secretary screwed up. We didn't get an advanced copy of your presentation," said another man, younger, dark hair slicked back, eyes hard and watchful, a total corporate shark. 

He looked like a lawyer to Jim, and he guessed this was Ted Johnson, the chief legal counsel. 

"Actually, Ted, I don't have a secretary here in Cascade yet. The staff in the London office was kind enough to help me put my report together. I asked them just to give me the copies, and I'd bring them with me. I want people to hear what I have to say first, then I'll hand out my recommendations afterwards." 

"What the hell? Listen, Sandburg--" Carney started to bluster. 

"I think what Brett is trying to say, Blair, is that it's customary to share your ideas with top management before you address the investors, just as a courtesy, so we'll be prepared for any questions the shareholders may ask us. It helps us present a unified front and keeps us from contradicting one another, so we don't give the investors any erroneous ideas about dissension among the officers of the corporation," the third man explained. 

He appeared to be the youngest of the group, blonde and attractive in a boyish way. The guy smiled attentively at Blair and stood closer to him than Jim cared for. 

"Well, I guess I can understand why that's a good idea," Blair acknowledged. "I'm sorry, Jay, I didn't realize that's the way it's done." 

"We can hardly blame you for that," Jay said, sympathetically. "You are new to this, after all." 

Jay Etris was another of the people Blair had named as not being especially happy that he'd taken over the company. The man seemed to have radically changed his position, now friendly and helpful. Jim could not have trusted him less. 

"Hey, guys, I really am sorry--" Blair started to say. 

But Jay waved off the apology. "It's really not that big a deal, Blair. If you can get us copies of the report now, we can quickly look them over and get up to speed before the question and answer period begins." 

"Oh, yeah. Sure. I have them right here," Blair said. 

He slipped his backpack off his shoulder and laid it down on a nearby table to rummage through it. He pulled out a pile of spiral-bound reports and handed one to each of the three men. 

"That's great," Jay said. "We'll review this while we listen to your remarks, and if any of the investors aim questions at us, we should be ready. Brett, Ted, I think we have what we need, don't you?" 

Brett Carney still did not look happy. "Yes, yes. But next time, I'd appreciate not having my balls on the line at the eleventh hour. Advanced notice, Sandburg. We're busy men." 

"Sure, sure, no problem. Now I know." 

Jay smiled at Blair. "Good luck, Blair. I look forward to hearing your vision for our future." 

"Thanks, man," Blair said, his face lighting up, looking relieved that at least one person associated with Sandburg Enterprises didn't wish him abject failure. 

Jim had to resist the urge to snort out loud. In his opinion, this Etris guy was trying way too hard to make points with the new boss. //These corporate sycophants are all alike.// He thought with disgust. He refused to examine how the man's youth, blonde good looks and obvious success--all things that Blair might easily find attractive, all things that he didn't possess--might have biased his opinion. 

The three executives headed off to peruse the report. It was time to begin, and Blair was abuzz with kinetic energy. He bounced on the balls of his feet, swung his arms back and forth, fiddled with his hair, tugged on the bottom of his jacket. His expression reminded Jim of somebody about to face the firing squad. 

Jim took him by the shoulders, turned him around to face him and looked him straight in the eye. "You can do this," he told him. "You know you can. You truly believe that what you're proposing is right. I could tell that just from our brief conversation in the truck the other day. Show these people the same enthusiasm you showed me. Be as persuasive with them as you were with the Customs people at the airport. Shareholders can't be any more difficult to reason with than government workers." 

Blair smiled and said, "Thanks, man. I needed that." 

His eyes sparkled with a number of emotions. Jim couldn't quite sort them all out, but he thought he saw gratitude and relief, along with something more charged, something he didn't have the luxury to explore as long as the danger was still out there. 

Jim smiled back at him. "No problem, Chief. Now go show 'em who's boss." 

Blair grinned and nodded, then climbed the few steps to the raised dais. He settled his notes onto the lectern and took a moment to scan the crowd. Everyone settled into their seats, eager to hear what this young, unusual new CEO had to say for himself, although most of them were motivated more by morbid curiosity than any expectation that they might actually agree with him. 

Jim took up a strategic position to one side of the dais, no more than a step or two away from Blair. From there, he would see any unusual activity and be able stop it before anything could happen to his young charge. 

"Good morning, everyone, and thank you for coming," Blair began, sounding a little nervous. "As most of you know, I'm Blair Sandburg, and for better or worse, my grandfather has left me in charge of Sandburg Enterprises. I know that this is not what any of you were expecting. To be honest, it was not what I was expecting either. But for whatever reason, my grandfather believed I was the right person for the job, so I intend to honor that trust and do the best I can to make Sandburg Enterprises not only profitable, but a company we can all be proud of." 

Jim could hear Andrew, who was sitting in the first row, whisper to Elliot, "He sounds like he's running for class president." 

Elliot snickered. Jim glared at them both, and the younger Sandburg stared back with impudent bravado. But they did both fall silent. 

By this point though, Blair had begun to hit his stride, and he didn't let their rudeness disrupt his presentation. "As Bob Dylan wrote: _The times they are a-changin'._ And Sandburg Enterprises must also change. We are facing an increasingly altered and even difficult business climate. In the past, we and other large U.S. corporations have depended upon encountering virtually no resistance from the South American governments in whose countries we mine ore, cut timber and drill for oil. But these nations are beginning to discover the cost for granting such blanket permission to exploit their natural resources. 

"They have discovered that it impoverishes, not enriches them. They have seen how it devastates the land on which they and their children and all their future generations must live. They have figured out that they don't need us, that they can mine their own ore and cut their own timber and drill their own oil. And keep the money in their own countries where it will actually benefit their people. 

"Regulations on U.S. and European companies are growing increasingly stringent. The severe financial strain caused by the instability of the South American stock markets has only made the situation worse, made these governments even more hesitant to deal with us. If we don't want to be locked out of doing business in these countries completely, then business as usual must become a thing of the past." 

Marissa interrupted Blair to say, "While I feel for the people of South America as much as anyone else does, the function of a corporation, its _only_ function, is to create a profit, Blair. Your warm and fuzzy approach may be politically correct, but does it make good business sense?" 

Voices murmured in agreement all around the room. 

"I'm glad you brought that up, Marissa," Blair said. "It provides a nice segue for my next point. Although decency and profitability may often be at odds with one another, this happens to be one case in which they are not. In the packet of materials I'll be handing out at the end of my presentation, you'll find in-depth analyses of the individual South American markets by top economic and political experts, along with forecasts about changes in business practice in the region, trends in governmental regulation and recommendations for successful adaptation. I won't go into all the details, since you can read it for yourself. But I will tell you that the overwhelming theme is the necessity for companies to stop trying to strong-arm these governments and to start being respectful, reliable partners. Sandburg Enterprises is in the perfect position to assume this role, ahead of our competition, to our obvious business advantage." 

"Like what?" a voice in the crowd wanted to know. 

"Yes, tell us more about the advantages," someone else prompted. 

"Obviously, the biggest benefit is that we'll be able to continue our operations in South America, business which makes up a substantial part of our annual revenues. If we position ourselves well with the various governments, we may actually be able to expand our enterprises down there, as we pick up business lost by other companies that are behind the times in their thinking on environmental and socio-political matters." 

"But how much is all this going to cost?" Elliot asked. "It sounds terribly expensive. And expanding our operations isn't going to make us more profitable if it means that our costs go through the roof." 

"There will be additional costs," Blair answered truthfully. "Of course, there will be. I wouldn't stand up here and tell you otherwise. And you wouldn't believe me if I did." 

A low rumble of laughter spread through the room, and Jim could see nodding heads. Apparently, the investors appreciated Blair's candor. 

"That's why we have to make sure to capitalize on the huge public relations value of this initiative. In your packets, you'll find summaries of focus group results that indicate consumers value the kind of corporate responsibility I'm advocating and that they are far more likely to give their business to companies that demonstrate it. Not only do we have the opportunity to expand our operations on the production side, but also to increase our market share significantly. The final appendix of the report shows long-term financial projections that put us way ahead of the competition at the end of five years. This really is one of those rare win-win situations in which the right thing is also the expedient thing. We can do business in a more ethical way and also be substantially more profitable. Now, if there are any questions, I'll be happy to try to answer them." 

Blair surveyed the room for hands, and he looked so perfectly at ease that if Jim hadn't known better he would have believed he'd been preparing for this moment all his life. He was amazed by the authority with which the young man had spoken, his effortless use of business jargon, the complexity and thoroughness of his plans. But then Blair was a scholar. He must have studied this subject as carefully as he would a topic in anthropology. 

An older woman dressed in a jaunty pink suit and hat stood and said, "I have a question, but it's for Mr. Carney. No slight intended to Mr. Sandburg, but I'm curious what the top management thinks of the plan." 

Blair stepped to the side, and Carney mounted the platform to speak into the microphone. "While I think it would be premature to settle on any specific details of how to carry out this paradigm shift, I would say that from the materials I was able to review it does seem to be a sound strategy. In fact, I'm a little amazed that Mr. Sandburg was able to get to this information before our corporate research department." 

"I have personal knowledge of South America," Blair explained. "I knew the right people to ask." 

Brett Carney actually looked impressed. "So to answer your question, Mrs. Harrison," the president continued. "We're on board with the strategy. We'd like to do some additional research and then work with Mr. Sandburg to develop an action plan that will effectively implement it." 

Carney looked to Blair, and he nodded, agreeing. The president relinquished the microphone and returned to his seat. Blair opened the floor to more questions, and Jim couldn't help smiling as he watched him handle them all deftly, not only beginning to win over the crowd, but actually to excite them about the company's future prospects. 

Not long after the question and answer session began, Captain Banks slipped into the room and headed in his direction. 

"Mr. Ellison," the captain said, extending his hand. 

"Jim," he corrected and shook the man's hand. 

"Simon," he said. "So how are things going, Jim? I had the mayor on the phone this morning, anxious to make sure nothing happens to Mr. Sandburg. I had to promise him I'd come down and check it out myself." 

"Everything's going smoothly so far. No problems. You have a good team." 

"Thank you. And yes, they are. Very good," Simon said and then turned his attention to Blair up at the podium. "The kid really knows how to handle himself. I wouldn't have guessed he'd make such a convincing CEO." 

"That's pretty much what everybody in this room thought until Blair proved them wrong." 

"You sound proud of him," Simon noted. 

Jim knew that Simon wondered about his relationship with Blair. He decided to ignore the question he heard in the man's tone. 

Simon tactfully changed the subject. "I went back over to the hotel this morning. Forensics was there last night after you left. But they didn't really find anything more than we did. Although I did get the ballistics report back this morning, and it was definitely a teflon-tipped bullet. We were also able to locate where the shooter was positioned. It was in an empty office in that high rise across the street." 

"Did you find anything there?" 

"I'm afraid not. Whoever it is knew what he was doing. It's pretty certain we're dealing with a professional here." 

Jim shook his head. "That's what I was afraid of." 

"Yeah. That's not good news for any of us. And to make it worse..." Simon hesitated. 

"What?" Jim demanded. "I'm responsible for his safety. If there's something I should know, you have to tell me." 

The indecision in Simon's face finally resolved itself. "The choice of weapon and ammunition suggests that the assassin is Klaus Zoeller." 

Jim's heart froze with fear for Blair. "Oh, shit! Please tell me you don't mean the Ice Man, _that_ Klaus Zoeller." 

"So you've heard of him? I figured you might have in your line of work. And yes, I'm afraid it is that Klaus Zoeller, the one and only." 

"Shit. Shit!" 

"I know. That was my first thought too. Are you going to tell him?" 

Jim considered it and then shook his head. "No. It won't help anything. He's cooperating with me. I don't see the point in completely terrifying him. He already knows this is serious." 

Simon nodded. "I can see your point," he said. "You know, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about." 

"What?" 

"I had a chance to take a look at just how far it was from where the shooter was located to where Mr. Sandburg was standing. Once again, I was really amazed that you were able to get to him in time." 

"Sometimes you just get lucky, I guess." 

"Yeah. I suppose your instincts paid off, like you said yesterday. Of course, the problem with that story is that nobody's instincts are that good. It was just too far away. You know the first rule of police work--the obvious explanation is usually the right one. In this case, the obvious explanation would be that you were in on it. You pushed him out of the way because you changed your mind, or you saved him as part of a more elaborate setup." 

Jim colored with outrage. "I wouldn't _do_ that." 

Simon watched Blair for a moment and then turned back to Jim, scrutinizing him. "No, I don't think you would, particularly not to Mr. Sandburg. I have the feeling this is one of those odd cases where it's the really _unlikely_ explanation that's the truth." 

Jim could feel the weight of the man's curiosity, but he made no answer, determined to protect his secret. 

"Okay, so you're not going to let me in on how you did it. I suppose you learned to keep things to yourself back when you were in Covert Ops. I'll just have to keep trying to figure it out for myself then." 

"You checked me out," Jim said. 

Simon nodded. "The mayor has taken a personal interest in this. I had to know in whose hands I was leaving Mr. Sandburg's safety. Anyway, if everything's fine here, then I need to be going. Oh, I almost forgot. Would you give this to him?" Simon asked, taking out a pink slip of paper from his pocket and handing it to him. "It's a phone message. The hotel turned it over to us during our investigation. But it doesn't seem to have any bearing on the case." 

"Sure," Jim said. "I'll make sure he gets it." 

"Thanks. Take good care of him." 

"That's my plan." 

"I'll check in with you later just to see how things are going." 

Jim nodded, and Simon headed for the exit, after checking in with his men. Jim tried not to seethe over the idea that Simon or anyone could think he'd sell out a client, especially someone like Blair. He had to force himself to refocus and keep his attention where it belonged, on the man he was guarding. 

Eventually, Blair signaled that he needed a break, his voice beginning to sound scratchy, and the meeting adjourned for lunch. The young man bounded down from the dais and rejoined Jim. 

"Was that Captain Banks I saw?" he asked. 

"Yeah, he just wanted to check up on things. The mayor was concerned about your safety." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Three months ago, he could have run over me with his car, and his only _concern_ would have been whether I was going to sue." 

"You're a big shot now, Chief." 

Blair snorted derisively. 

"Anyway," Jim said. "Captain Banks brought you this phone message. It must have come in for you after we left last night. They gave it to him, but he doesn't need it for the investigation." 

Blair took the pink slip of paper and read it. "Ah, shit! It's from the professor I was supposed to deliver the artifacts to. In all the excitement yesterday, I completely forgot about that. Maybe we can drop by the U. and take care of it tonight?" 

"Sure, Blair, anything you need, let me know. I just don't want you going anywhere alone. Simon also wanted me to tell you how well he thought you handled the questions. And he was right. You were great up there. If I owned shares in this company, I'd be thrilled to have you in charge." 

Blair smiled so broadly, so sweetly, with such obvious pleasure that it made Jim want to pay him a hundred more compliments. 

"You really think so?" Blair asked. 

"Absolutely," Jim said, throwing an arm around his shoulder, giving him a little half hug. He figured it almost qualified as a professional thing to do, since he was trying to encourage Blair about the job he was doing. 

"Could we get some lunch?" Blair asked. "I'm a little wiped out from all the grilling." 

"Sure. I think they're serving sandwiches and salads and stuff." 

"Would it be okay if we took off for a while and had lunch somewhere else? I really need to get away for a little bit." 

"Of course, Blair. It's probably a good idea to kick back after all the pressure this morning. Where would you like to--" 

"Well, cuz, when I'm wrong, I say so," Marissa said, interrupting them. "I have to admit that your plan seems much better thought out than I ever would have predicted. I guess I just expected you to be as flaky as your moth-- Well, anyway, your presentation was very thorough." 

"So will you support the strategy?" Blair asked. 

"I can't say just yet. I need to review the materials and give it some thought. But I am seriously considering it, and that's far more than I would have said this morning." 

"Well, I suppose that's progress then." 

Elliot had been standing a little apart from them, listening in, and he interjected, "I still have a lot of questions." 

"Lay them on me, man," Blair said, his voice confident, even commanding, in answer to Elliot's challenging tone. "That's what I'm here for." 

Andrew joined them as well, and he snorted disdainfully. "Oh, please. Like it really matters what we think or want. Blair's got controlling interest here, El. He can just cram this shit down our throats whether we like or not, no matter what the vote says." 

"I have no intention of doing that, Andrew," Blair assured him. 

"Yeah, right." 

"Yes, that _is_ right," Blair said, punctuating his words, making it clear he wasn't going to take any shit. "Being a dictator is not my style. And while it's technically correct that I can do whatever I think is best, the practical truth is that I need investor support to make this or any strategy work. I need _your_ support. I really hope you'll take a look at the proposal and consider it objectively. It _does_ have merit. I guarantee that." 

"Because we all know how concerned you are about the company," Andrew answered snidely, before turning his back and walking away. 

"Don't mind him," Marissa said, waving her hand dismissively. "He can be a little hot-headed sometimes. He'll get over it." 

"I'm going to review your report, Blair," Elliot told him. "And after lunch, I'm going to take you up on that offer to answer the questions I have." 

"I look forward to it," Blair said, not backing down even a little. 

Jim couldn't help feeling a warm glow of pride. The more he saw of this man the more amazed he was by him. 

Marissa moved closer to Jim and linked her arm through his. "Now, Jim, why don't we spend a little time together and get to know one another better, the way we promised we would this morning?" 

She practically fluttered her eyelashes at him, and Jim struggled to hide his amusement. He had to admit that Blair's cousin knew how to work it. She was looking at him as if he were the most fascinating person in the room, as if he were the only man in the world. He bet that ploy worked really well on straight men. And on men who weren't already hung up on somebody else. But then he had to chastize himself for letting that last thought slip in. 

"There's nothing I'd enjoy more," he said, favoring her with one of his best smiles, pouring on the charm. He still felt that Marissa was his best shot at learning who in the Sandburg family might be trying to get rid of Blair, and he allowed her to lead him off to a quieter spot where they could speak more freely. 

It was perhaps ten minutes into their conversation when he realized that Marissa didn't, in fact, know anything about the attempts on Blair's life. Every time he steered the conversation in that direction, she reacted with impatience and disappointment, but no anxiety, no alarm. He sighed heavily, not very pleased that he'd given up ten minutes of Blair's company for his cousin's self-involved prattle, only to realize it had been nothing more than a wild goose chase all along. 

That's when it occurred to him that he'd promised to take Blair out to lunch, and he gave that as an excuse, making it sound like a professional obligation rather than the honest pleasure it was, successfully detaching himself from Marissa's clutches. But when he looked around for Blair, he couldn't find him. Jim scanned the room frantically, but there was no sign of him. He had never felt such sick terror in his life. For a moment, the shock of it knocked his senses off line, made him forget that he was a Sentinel or whatever Blair called it, that he could use his enhanced perception to track the young man. He was about to put out the alert to Brown, Rafe and the rest of the cops, when his senses somehow kicked back in and he heard it, like some kind of distant homing beacon. 

It was Blair's heart beat, excited and elevated. In a sick flash, Jim feared the worse, that Zoeller had him. 

He ran flat out in the direction of the sound, down several floors and along a darkened corridor that led to the executive offices. During the week, he was sure this area was bustling with activity, but now, on Saturday, it was silent and empty, the perfect place for a hit. He could hear Blair's pulse clearly and tracked it to one of the big corner offices. He pulled his gun and assessed the situation through the small sliver of space where the door stood ajar. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks. 

Blair was looking through a telescope at the city scape and the Cascade mountains beyond. Jay Etris hovered behind him, leaning over his shoulder, guiding the lens. His mouth nearly brushed Blair's hair as he whispered huskily into his ear. //And Blair's _letting_ him. Hell, he's encouraging it.// A white hot flash of rage shot through Jim. He charged into the room. Both men whirled around when he came crashing through the door. 

"Jim? What--" Blair started to ask. 

But Jim ignored him, grabbed Etris by the arm and threw him up against the wall. 

"Hey! What do you think you're--" the outraged man started to ask. 

"Shut up!" Jim ordered. 

He quickly patted the guy down. He didn't find a gun or anything else suspicious, which was certainly a relief. When he finished, he released him. 

"Are you _quite_ through?" Etris asked, his face dark red with embarrassment and fury. 

"Jay, I'm really sorry--" Blair started to say. 

But Jim wasn't remotely apologetic. He got in the man's face. "I'm in charge of Mr. Sandburg's safety. Bringing him to a part of the building that hasn't been cleared by his security team without informing us put him in very real danger. I won't tolerate that." 

"Hey, I was just showing him the sights. Blair, could you please call off your neanderthal?" 

"Jim! That's enough." 

"Yes, it is," Jim agreed. "If you don't mind, I have some things to go over with my client. I'm sure you have business elsewhere." 

"What?" Etris sputtered. "How dare you..." 

"Jay, if you don't mind, I really do need to have a word with Jim," Blair said, a little pleadingly, trying to mollify him. 

"Well," the other man said, giving in hesitantly. "If you're sure, Blair." 

"Yeah, man. I'll catch up with you later. I just need a few minutes here." 

Etris smiled, in a way that Jim didn't appreciate. "I'm going to hold you to that. See you in a bit." 

When the man had gone, Jim shut the door and turned to Blair. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Me? What the hell is wrong with _you_?" Blair demanded. 

"You want to know what's wrong with me? I'll tell you. I take my eyes off you for a _minute_ and poof! You disappear. Do you have any idea what went through my head when I realized you were gone? And then I find you all the way over here in a deserted section of the building without a security escort with someone you yourself named as a potential suspect. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? You're just lucky I showed up when I did." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, Jim. I'm _so_ fortunate. You really saved the day. Thanks to you, I'm _not_ getting my cock sucked by an attractive Executive Vice President, because that's exactly where this was headed when you so rudely interrupted. _Thanks_ man. I have so much to be grateful for." 

Jim's face flushed red and hot. "Don't you think that might be a little too close to sexual harassment, Chief?" 

And then Blair turned red. "Not if he was offering, man." 

"Oh, I see. Your first day on the job, and you're already taking advantage of the perks. I underestimated you, Sandburg. You fit into corporate America perfectly." 

"That's it! I don't have to take this shit from you," Blair said and pushed past him, out the door and down the hall. 

Jim took off after him, grabbed him by the arm and whirled him around. "We're not finished here." 

"Like fucking hell we're not." 

"We're going to go over safety procedures until you get it through you thick skull that this is serious," he said, shaking Blair, harder than he intended, both angry and scared, not a good combination for him. 

"I'm surprised you even have time to spare for me. What? Are you just pissed off that I pulled you away from Marissa, that you didn't get to have a little quicky in one of the conference rooms? Don't worry, man. I'm sure you can make a plan to meet her later and fuck to your heart's content." 

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Do too. And make me." 

It was a petulant challenge, like something between school kids, but it pushed Jim over the edge anyway. Seeing Blair with Jay Etris, the way he'd let the man practically inhale him, hadn't exactly left Jim at his level best. He hooked his hand beneath Blair's elbow, dragged him into a nearby office and slammed the door behind them. 

All his carefully reasoned determination to keep it professional fell by the wayside. Everything between them was completely personal and always would be; he'd been a fool not to see that before. He pulled Blair roughly against him and kissed him, forcing his lips apart, practically consuming him. If Blair had struggled, Jim wasn't sure he would have let him go, but Blair wasn't fighting. At least, he wasn't trying to pull away. He was kissing back frantically, biting Jim's lips, shoving his tongue as far as he could down Jim's throat, half out of anger and half out of desire. 

Jim finally broke the kiss. "I don't want his hands on you. I don't want anyone else's hands on you ever again," he said, sounding like a possessive lunatic, even to himself. 

Blair flushed angrily. "That's just rich, man, when you've spent all day trying to get your hands down my cousin's skirt. And for your information, I'll do whatever I damned well pleased, with anybody I choose." 

Jim growled in the back of his throat. "Like _hell_ you will." 

He spun Blair around and pushed him against the wall. He quickly undid the young man's belt, unzipped his jeans and yanked them down, along with his boxers. He kicked at Blair's feet to get him to spread his legs and opened his own fly, taking out his already hard cock. 

Again, he wasn't sure what he would have done if Blair had resisted. He couldn't bear the thought that he would have forced him, but as lost as he was in the desperate fog of need and anger, he couldn't be sure. 

Fortunately, Blair only encouraged him, saying, "Yeah, Jim. Do it. Come on. You know you want my ass. Take it. Show me you want me." 

Jim sucked on his fingers, wetting them. Then he parted Blair's cheeks, and shoved two fingers into his hot, sweet body, giving him exactly what he asked for. Blair hissed through his teeth, and Jim almost pulled back, afraid for a moment that he'd been too rough, that he'd hurt him. 

But then Blair said, "Oh, God, yeah. There. _There,_ Jim. Touch me there." 

He moved his fingers, stroking the spot inside his lover's body that drove him so wild. Blair sucked in his breath and trembled all over. 

"Please, Jim. Do me. Do me now." 

Jim withdrew his fingers and looked around the room for something he could use for lubrication. Luckily, there was a bottle of hand lotion sitting conveniently on the desk. He pumped a good amount into his palm and liberally coated his cock. He braced Blair's hips and entered him in a single stroke. 

"Oh, God, yeah. Fuck me, Jim. Show me who's boss. Give it to me, man." 

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever experienced to be inside Blair, and it wasn't simply a matter of how hot and tight Blair's ass felt surrounding his cock. He could sense Blair's heart pounding, the blood rushing through his veins, all the other rhythms and motions of his body, as if they were one being, sharing one life force. Jim moved inside him in long, deliberate strokes, angling for the sweet spot, urged on by every one of Blair's little whimpered cries of pleasure. 

Blair pushed back against Jim's cock and begged, "Fuck me. Yeah, Jim, yeah. Fuck me hard." 

He reached around Blair's body and began to fist his cock, working him vigorously. He knew he couldn't last much longer, and he wanted Blair to come with him. He pressed his chest to Blair's back and nuzzled his neck. He could feel the pulse fluttering in the large artery beneath his lips. 

Blair arched his neck and invited him. "Show me who I belong to," he said, his voice slurred and feverish. 

Jim moved his hair out of the way and pulled his shirt back, choosing a place the collar would hide, so Blair wouldn't have to explain getting a hickey while in the middle of conducting a business meeting. He bit down hard on the sweet, tender skin at the base of his throat, jerking Blair's cock more urgently. Blair came in his hand with a half-strangled scream. It was the most heavenly sensation he could ever have imagined, the way that sweet, clenching muscle felt around his cock, how it pulled the orgasm right out of him. He came in waves, filling his lover with his hot seed. When it was over, he sank heavily against Blair's back, which was rising and falling with his lover's breathless panting. Blair rested his forehead against the wall, and the small muscles in his hands jerked with the last spasms of his pleasure. 

"God, you make me crazy," Jim whispered against the back of his neck. 

When he could find the strength, he took his weight off Blair and gently withdrew from his body. He grabbed some tissues from the box sitting on the desk, glad they'd happened upon a woman's office for their indiscretion. He cleaned himself, Blair and the wall. They both reassembled their clothing. 

"Look, Chief, I'm really sor--" he started to say. 

Blair smiled. "You know how you weren't allowed to apologize for saving my life? Well, I don't think you're allowed to be sorry for giving me the orgasm of a lifetime either." 

"I'm clean. I just want you to know that. I get tested, and it's always been negative. Plus, it's really been a while since... You're the first in a long time." 

"I'm clean too, man. My mom started giving me the speech about condoms when I was in grade school. I've always been completely careful. At least up until now." 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

"Nah. You've just given me something to remember when I sit down today." 

"I _am_ sorry I lost control like that. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me. But we can't keep doing this, Chief." 

Blair looked at him speculatively. "I don't really think that's an option, man. Do you? I mean, how long did the impersonal thing last? Half a day?" 

"You never give up, do you, Chief?" 

"Not when it's something important. I already told you that." 

Jim sighed. "Let's at least try to keep it zipped up until the meeting's over." 

"Fine by me, man. I'm not the one who dragged me in here and fucked my brains out." 

Jim began to get exasperated. "I _wouldn't_ have if you hadn't been letting that Etris guy paw all over you." 

Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "And I would never even have given him the time of day if you hadn't been drooling all over my cousin. Look, man, can we argue about this later? We should really go back to the meeting. They're probably looking for us." 

Blair turned and started for the door, but Jim caught his arm and pulled him back. He kissed him soundly. 

"Chief, I was only playing up to Marissa, because she seemed like the best bet for getting information out of your family. For the record, you're the only Sandburg I have any interest in. The only thing I wanted from your cousin was help figuring out who's trying to hurt you." 

Blair blinked in surprise. "But it really seemed like..." 

"I may not be completely free to act on my feelings for you while I'm responsible for your safety, but that doesn't mean I don't, in fact, have feelings for you. I would never purposefully hurt you, and I certainly wouldn't take up with someone who goes out of her way to be unkind to you." 

"Thanks, Jim," Blair said, in a small voice, sounding surprised and young and way too vulnerable. Jim had to wonder how badly hurt Blair had been in the past. He knew it couldn't have been easy growing up in a family like that, with people who treated him so callously, who made it plain they considered him an outsider. 

Jim kissed him again. "So, Chief, you ready to go back out there and face the barracudas again?" 

Blair smiled. "As ready as I'll ever be." 

He took Blair by the hand and led him out of the office. 

"Jim?" Blair said. 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"I knew Jay was only playing up to the boss, that it didn't have anything to do with me as a person. I just went along with it because I wanted you to be as jealous as I was." 

"Well, Chief, congratulations. Your plan was a complete success." 

They both laughed, and Jim couldn't help noticing that Blair seemed pleased with his victory. 

"Hey, man, how'd you find me anyway?" Blair thought to ask. 

"I tracked your heart beat." 

Blair stared at him, stunned. "That's amazing! So how far away were you when you first heard it? And how did you know it was my heart beat? And--" 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Later. But this is another one of those things I'm not going to forget. I want to hear all about it, every detail, man. It's just so cool, Jim. I can't even begin to tell you how exciting this is. It's like a researcher's dream come true." 

Jim shook his head and wondered if Blair's intense need to know and understand ever took a break. He thought it probably didn't, and he should just make his peace with being questioned within an inch of his life as long as the young man was with him. Normally, he guarded his privacy tenaciously, but in this case, a little self-disclosure seemed a small price to pay for this man's company, to have such an amazing person in his life. 

He walked Blair back to the board room and hoped people wouldn't wonder why the two of them practically reeked of rose scented hand lotion. 

* * *

Concluded in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.

## The Unlikely CEO

by Annabelle Leigh with Shar

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

* * *

The Unlikely CEO - part three   
by Annabelle Leigh (with Shar) 

It was too late to go out to lunch, but someone had made up a plate for Blair and left it along with silverware, a linen napkin, and a tall glass of seltzer at his place around the table. There was no such plate for Jim, which made him scowl. 

"I guess I'll have to go see what's left," he grumbled. 

Blair grinned. "I'm sure there are some leftovers, man." 

Jim gave his amused companion one of his best dark looks, but that only made Blair start laughing. 

"I'm glad you find it so hilarious that I'm going to go hungry," he said, sounding more sulky than menacing. 

Blair reached out for his arm with one hand and wiped his eyes with the other. "Nah, man. I'm just teasing. I'll share. You know what's mine is yours." 

The way Blair said that and the expression in his eyes left Jim feeling singed along the edges. Even though he had, in fact, just finished sampling what was Blair's only moments ago, he had the overwhelming desire to drag him off somewhere private and get another taste. And he damned well didn't mean of Blair's lunch. 

"See, Jim? There are definite advantages to hanging out with the head honcho," Blair said, his voice low and sultry and practically purring. 

Jim could see that he was going to pay for not abiding by his own good judgment, for giving in to his feelings. With Blair in such an obviously playful mood, he knew it was going to be a long day of flirtation and sensual teasing. If he made it through the rest of the meeting without lasting physical damage or profound embarrassment, he'd consider himself lucky. 

Blair picked up the fork and tried some of the pasta salad. "Not bad," he said. "Although I would have added more lemon juice to the dressing and a little less olive oil." 

Jim watched him lift the fork and take another bite. His full lips parted around the fork, and then closed again. "Mmm," he said, as he chewed. He swallowed, and Jim watched the action of his throat muscles as if it were the most mesmerizing thing. "It really is good," Blair said, licking his lips. He held out the fork to him. "Want a bite?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with naughty enjoyment. 

Jim could sense the sharp spike in Blair's body temperature and the deepening of his natural scent and realized Blair was getting seriously turned on. He started to think that maybe it would be Blair who dragged him off somewhere private, threw him up against the wall and sampled his pleasures. 

He would have liked to dwell on that thought, to revel in the pungent spice of Blair's sex smell, to soak in the undeniable heat radiating off the young man's body, knowing it was all for him, relishing the knowledge that he was the one filling Blair with such unmistakable and insistent want. But somewhere below all the good scents--Blair's herbal shampoo and his honest sweat and the rose scented hand lotion that certainly would have given Jim a hard on if he had lingered on it even a moment longer than he did--there was something sharp and incongruous, something he recognized from somewhere else. He couldn't quite place what he was smelling or where he remembered it from, but somehow he knew it was terribly out of place in this environment. And anything that didn't fit, no matter how vague, set off all his internal alarms, trip wires honed by years of experience. 

"Jim?" Blair called to him. "What is it?" 

"I smell something. Something wrong." 

"Can you isolate it?" 

Jim frowned. "There's not enough of it, or it's being drowned out by something else." 

"And you can't tell where it's coming from?" 

He shook his head. 

"Okay," Blair said. "I'm going to walk you through it, help you concentrate. I want you to close your eyes and focus on the scent. Filter out all the other smells in the room, until you've got just the one. Picture it like you're unraveling threads. Imagine the scent you want to track is bright red. Push aside all the other colors of thread, until you're following just the red one. Can you see it?" 

Jim followed his instructions, closed his eyes tightly and focused his sense of smell with great effort. In his head, he converted the data into vibrant shades of thread. "I can see it," he told Blair, both surprised and gratified. 

"That's great, man! That's great!" Blair said, even more enthusiastic than usual. 

It made Jim smile, and he lost sight of the thread for a moment, until he turned his mind away from his companion and back to business. And then, there it was again. 

"Are you following it?" Blair asked. 

He nodded. Now that he had teased it apart from the other threads, he imagined it as a red marking on pavement, like the center line of a highway, and he walked alongside it, tracing it back in his imagination to its source. He had expected it to lead him to some spot in the board room, but instead, he found himself in a desolate alley, the ground filthy, littered with refuse and broken glass, the pavement ancient and chewed up. It was a scene out of his own history, from a case he had worked during a brief stint as a private investigator, before the vagaries of his senses lost him that job too. 

"Do you see anything?" Blair asked. 

"Yes. I'm going to follow it a little farther." 

"Okay, man, but don't go too far. I don't want you zoning." 

He nodded, obeying Blair's instructions, keeping one small part of his awareness focused on the young man's heart beat, using him as an anchor. He marshaled the rest of his concentration to imagine himself walking further down that alley, just as he had all those years ago when he'd been working for the distraught parents of a runaway fifteen year old boy. He had used his contacts on the street to track the kid to this place, a burned out building at the end of a cul de sac in one of the worst parts of town. In his mind, he retraced his steps from that day, into the darkened, decrepit structure, using his heightened eyesight to avoid rotting floor boards. He could hear heartbeats all around him, and when he focused his eyes, he could see kids cowering in the shadowy recesses, trying to hide, along with others who were splayed heedlessly on the grimy floor, too high to care who he was or what he wanted. He moved through room after room, scanning the disheveled faces for the boy he had been sent to bring home. 

He had finally found him in a small room on the third floor, after a perilous journey up the stairs. The boy lay face up, his body completely still, his eyes wide and white and staring. Jim couldn't tell how long he had been dead, although it couldn't have been more than a short while since there wasn't really a smell, not of death or decay, at least not yet. But there had been something. Jim frowned as he remembered, as the scent came back to him in his imagination. It was the same sharp smell he sensed now, bitter, almost medicinal. 

His eyes snapped open wide. Blair was watching him intently, the forgotten glass of seltzer still in his hand. 

"No!" Jim screamed and knocked it away, sending the water spraying everywhere. 

Blair stared at him with a bewilderment that bordered on shock. "What the fuck!?" 

"Tell me you didn't drink any of that," Jim said, frantically. 

"I didn't," Blair said, his eyes large and round. "Why?" 

"Cocaine." 

"What?" 

"That's what I was smelling. There was enough cocaine dissolved in that glass to kill ten people," he told the young man, and then spoke into his headset. "Rafe, Brown, have your men seal off the exits. Someone just tried to poison Mr. Sandburg. No one gets out of here without being searched. And we need to get a forensics team down here to secure the evidence." 

"Copy," Brown answered. 

Blair blanched. "Oh, fuck! Fuck!" He ran a hand through his hair, and Jim could see that he was trembling. 

It pissed him off that some sick bastard was scaring the shit out of Blair. It made him furious with himself that they'd been able to get this close. 

Jim raised his voice and addressed the nearby throngs who had stopped to stare. "Could everyone please move back from this area, and no one touch anything." The crowd murmured in confusion, but obeyed Jim's instructions. "Thank you. Now, can someone tell me who is responsible for leaving this lunch here for Mr. Sandburg?" 

A startled young woman stepped forward. "I am," she said. 

Jim crowded into her personal space, confrontationally. The young woman tried to take a step back, but curious onlookers hemmed her in. He leaned down in an intimidating way and asked, "Did you put the drug in Mr. Sandburg's soda?" 

The young woman gasped audibly and went completely pale. "Oh, no! No! I didn't I would never do anything like that. Especially not to Mr. Sandburg. He's always been so nice to me. I wouldn't try to hurt him. I swear!" 

Blair put a hand on his arm. "Jim, I know Celia. She's one of the assistants in the executive office. She wouldn't do something like this," he said, and then turned to the young woman. "It's okay. Jim's just trying to figure out who knows what. We're not accusing you of anything. I promise." 

Celia blinked back tears. "I'm so sorry. I really was trying to help." 

Blair put his hand on the young woman's shoulder. "And it was very thoughtful of you, Celia. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known that someone would do something like this. You're an asset to the company, and I appreciate the good job you do for us." 

The woman's face brightened. "Really? Thank you. Thank you so much." 

"Sorry we upset you." 

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're okay." 

Blair smiled at her. "Me, too." 

"Thank you for being so nice," she said and blushed a little, before hurrying off to resume her duties. 

Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "Does everyone who works for this company have a thing for you?" 

"Shh! She'll hear you," Blair said. "Jim, man, you have got to start taking it easier on the employees." 

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, Chief. I just want to find out who's doing this and " Jim trailed off, with a vaguely violent gesture. 

"I know. Me too." 

Blair sounded shaken, and Jim put his arm around him. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. 

"Yeah, man. Yeah. Thanks to you," he said, trying to sound brave, but Jim could feel him trembling. "Shit, Jim I just can't believe someone wants me dead this much." 

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise," he said, and then something struck him. "It's kind of weird, though." 

"What? That someone's willing to waste a fortune in recreational drugs trying to put me six feet under?" 

Jim frowned. "Yeah, actually. I mean, this just isn't the MO of a professional killer. And the Ice--" he stopped himself just in time. "It just doesn't fit." 

"So what does that mean, man? That somebody else is after me?" 

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Chief. The professional failed. Maybe the client is taking matters into his own hands." 

"Well, that's just great, man. That's fucking terrific." 

"We don't know that for sure. It's just a theory at this point. But I'm not comfortable with your staying here any longer. We need to get you to a secured location." 

"But--" 

"But nothing, Chief," Jim said, putting his foot down. "Somebody just tried to kill you. Again. That's it. End of the meeting. These people can just read the damned report. If they have more questions, someone else can answer them. I'm taking you home. Now." 

Blair didn't look particularly happy, but he didn't argue either. After all, he had promised to follow Jim's instructions when it came to security matters. Plus, Jim figured even Blair couldn't argue with the common sense logic of not staying in the place where someone had just tried to feed you a lethal dose of illegal drugs. 

Jim shepherded him to the exit, fending off everyone who wanted to know where their CEO was going, not letting Blair stop to answer their questions. There was a crowd around both doors since the police weren't allowing people to leave, and Jim began to push his way through, keeping one arm carefully wrapped around Blair's waist. 

"Excuse me. Pardon me. Make way," he said as he went. 

They were almost to the exit when a loud voice caught everyone's attention. "What do you mean no one's allowed to leave? How dare you! Do you know who I am? I will not be told by some flat footed dolt of a policeman that I may not freely come and go from my own family's business headquarters," Andrew said, his voice getting louder and more hostile. 

Jim was about to intervene, to tell Brown that it was all right to let the young man pass, when a sudden spike of sensation hit him. He froze, trying to figure out what was sending his senses into fits. 

"Hey, man, are you all right?" Blair whispered, sounding concerned. 

"I don't know. There's something " 

"Get out of my way!" Andrew demanded, trying to push past the detective. 

Jim's sensory awareness zeroed in on him, and the image of a red thread flashed across his imagination. A wave of scent hit him, and it was the same bitter chemical smell from before. He and Andrew exchanged a look. In a flash, Andrew kneed the police officer in the groin, causing him to screech in pain, and then he was gone, out of the room and through the door to the fire stairs before anyone could react. 

"Stay here!" Jim commanded Blair. 

And then he took off after Andrew Sandburg. He dashed through the doors into the stairwell and chased after him. He could hear Andrew's footfalls on the steps echoing from below. The kid was twenty years younger than he was and had a head start. He pushed himself, straining his middle-aged muscles to their absolute limit. Luckily, he was fueled on by a good measure of fury. Andrew had tried to hurt the person he cared about, and that meant Andrew was going down. 

He heard the door click shut and realized that Andrew had made it to the lobby. He raced down the last flight of steps and out of the stairwell just in time to see the kid head out the double doors that led to the street. Once outside, all Jim had to do was follow the trail of mayhem Andrew left in his wake. There was an overturned cart belonging to one of the flower sellers who worked the downtown area and several complaining pedestrians the fleeing young man had knocked down. Jim ran after him and used his special sensory abilities to track him. He could see the boy running in the direction of the main parking garage that served the surrounding businesses including Sandburg Enterprises, most likely where the kid's car was parked. 

Fortunately, Jim knew the back way, and he turned down one long alleyway and then another, until he got to Main Street. He darted out into the street, into oncoming traffic, holding up his hand, somehow managing not to get hit. He rounded the corner to the parking garage just at the same moment Andrew was coming from they opposite direction, and they ran headlong into each other. They were about the same height, but Jim had at least thirty more pounds of muscle on his frame. Andrew went sailing and hit the pavement with a thud and a scream, more shock than pain. 

"Get up, asshole," Jim said, hauling him up by the collar. 

He kept a tight grip on the struggling fugitive and began half pushing, half pulling him back to Sandburg Enterprises. Now that he was this close to Andrew, the kid practically reeked of illicit drugs, at least to Jim's sensitive nose. 

"Let go of me!" the boy demanded and fought to free himself. 

Jim tightened his hold enough to begin cutting off the supply of oxygen. 

Andrew frantically tugged at the fabric pulled tightly across his neck. "Can't. Breathe," he managed to gasp. 

"If you can't breathe, you can't run away," Jim said, with no sympathy. 

As they turned onto Mercer Place, the street where the corporate headquarters was located, they were met by Blair, Rafe, Brown, the other police officers, Elliot, Marissa and several uniformed Sandburg Enterprises security guards all streaming down the sidewalk in their direction. 

"Are you okay?" Blair asked Jim. 

"Yeah. Fine. Just a little winded," he said. 

"Is this the suspect?" Rafe asked. 

"What are you doing with my brother?" Elliot demanded. 

"What stupid thing have you done now, Andrew?" Marissa wanted to know. 

"Oh, fuck you, Ris," Andrew answered, apparently unchastened by his predicament. 

"He poisoned Blair's glass of seltzer with cocaine. I'm sure if you search him you'll find the drugs. Did you secure the evidence upstairs?" he asked the police detectives. 

Brown nodded. "Yeah, we got it." 

"Mr. Sandburg, you have the right to remain silent," Rafe told him. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law--" 

"What was I supposed to do?" Andrew insisted. "I couldn't let this little hippie know-nothing _bastard_ piss away the family business. That's _our_ legacy. We put up with grandfather's constant criticisms and digs and commandments for it. We _deserve_ it. I'm not the least bit sorry for trying to take back what's rightfully ours." 

"Shut the hell up, Andrew!" Elliot yelled. "Don't say one more word until we get you proper legal representation." 

"You have the right to an attorney," Rafe continued. "If you cannot afford one--" 

Andrew snorted disdainfully. 

"One will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?" Rafe asked. 

" _Yes_ ," the youngest Sandburg answered sullenly. 

Rafe patted him down and pulled a small ziplock bag out of his pants pocket. It contained traces of a white powder. 

"You're being arrested on suspicion of attempted murder and possession of a controlled substance," Brown told him. "You'll be taken back to police headquarters for processing and questioning." 

"Remember what I said," Elliot told him. "Not a word until I can get Eric Matthews over there to represent you." 

Andrew nodded to his brother as the uniformed officers began hauling him off to their squad car. 

Elliot turned to Blair. "I can't believe you'd allow a member of your own family to be dragged away to jail like this." 

"I can't believe Andrew would be such an idiot," Marissa said. 

Elliot glared at his sister, and then hurried off to arrange for his brother's legal counsel. 

"I should go down to the police station too and try to help Elliot get Andrew out of the deep shit he's in," Marissa said, with a heavy sigh. 

"It's hardly Blair's fault," Jim said, angrily, offended on his behalf. "He's the _victim_ here." 

"I know. Really. I'm sorry for what Elliot said. He's tried to take on a fatherly role with Andrew since Dad died, but it hasn't been very successful, I'm afraid. Look, Blair, I want to apologize. I swear to God I had no idea it was Andrew who was after you. In all honesty, I really did just think they were accidents. I guess I thought you were unnerved about taking over the company and it had made you a little paranoid." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." 

She colored. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out quite right. Listen, Blair, we're not friends, and we probably never will be. But I do want you to know that Grandfather's leaving the company to you wasn't any accident or because he was senile or anything like that. He was a man who was very much bound by propriety, and he could never forget the circumstances of your birth, very much the way he could never get over the fact that I'm a woman interested in business. But in his own way, he did respect you. He admired that you were your own man, making your own way in the world, relying on your own abilities, not the family money or connections to get you where you wanted to go. At the end of his life, he became very thoughtful and reconsidered a lot of things. I'm positive he left you his company because he knew you would make things happen, positive improvements, just like the plan you laid out today. It made me furious that he didn't trust me enough to leave the company in my hands, but now, with all that's happened, I'm letting that go. You'll have my support for your new strategy." 

Blair's eyes grew wide with surprise. "Wow. Thanks, Marissa. I can't tell you how good that is to hear." 

"Well," she said. "It's the truth. I didn't think it was fair not to tell you." 

He watched her appraisingly. "You must have really loved our grandfather." 

She smiled, softly, a little sadly. "Yes, I did. Very much. As exasperating as he could be, I really, really did love him." 

"I wish I'd known him," Blair said, wistfully. 

Marissa nodded and actually looked sympathetic. 

"I'm sorry about Andrew," Blair told her. 

She sighed. "Yes, well, I guess I'd better go see what can be salvaged. See you later." 

She turned and headed off in the same direction her brother had gone. 

"Good work, Ellison," Brown said, slapping Jim on the back. "How on earth did you know there was cocaine in that glass?" 

Jim shrugged. "I guess I just have good instincts." 

Rafe and Brown looked at each other, disbelievingly. 

"Uh-huh," Brown said. "And I'm the King of Siam." 

Jim arched an eyebrow and smiled at the two cops. "How else would you explain it?" 

Rafe shook his head. "I don't even want to try." 

"We'll need you to make a statement," Brown said. "But it's been a long, hectic day. I think it's okay if you come down to the station in the morning to take care of it." 

"That's becoming a pattern," Blair remarked, not sounding very happy. 

"Well, hopefully it will be the last time now that we've got the guy," Rafe said. 

"That's a relief, at least," Blair said. 

"See you guys in the morning," Brown said. 

The two police detectives headed back to their car to return to the station and take care of the paperwork. 

"Can you go?" Jim asked. 

Blair nodded. "Under the circumstances, we felt it best to adjourn, give everyone a chance to read and digest the report, and then vote tomorrow." 

"Good. Then I can take you home." Jim slung an arm around his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the truck. "You know, Chief, running down the sidewalk trailing after me is not exactly my idea of staying put." 

Blair snorted. "Well, get used to it, Jim. That's as close to staying put as I'm ever going to get when I think you need my help." 

Jim shook his head and pulled the young man at his side into an even tighter embrace. 

* * *

The first thing Jim did when he got Blair back to the loft was to kiss him, no more than two steps inside the apartment, with the door still standing wide open. It had been everything he could do to restrain himself in the truck and then on the way up in the elevator. Now that they were finally home, he couldn't bear to waste any more time. He pulled Blair to him and kissed him in earnest, with open-mouthed hunger. It felt so wonderful finally to indulge his desire freely, without worry about safety or the need for restraint. It felt so wonderful to know that the man in his arms was much more than a client, that he was the most exciting and affectionate lover Jim had ever had. 

For however long it lasted, anyway. 

As thrilling as it was to feel Blair responding to him, kissing him back with a matching passion, Jim was still under no illusions about what it meant. Blair was an important man now. Even if it was not the role he would have chosen for himself, he had stepped into it as naturally as if it had been his lifelong ambition. Jim had never seen anyone more impressive than Blair had been as he'd handled the demanding investors, overcoming their prejudices, winning them over to his way of thinking. And even if his grandfather had never left him the family company, he would still have been out of Jim's league. Hell, Blair was bright, talented, beautiful, funny--destined for big and wonderful things, at Sandburg Enterprises, in academia or any other pursuit he chose. And what could Jim say for himself? He was a half broken down ex-military throwback, still something of a freak in his own opinion, no matter how much Blair tried to convince him otherwise. 

Jim was far too experienced in the ways of the world not to realize that he wouldn't be able to keep Blair's interest for long. The novelty of the whole Sentinel thing would wear off, and there would be an endless supply of Jay Etrises just lining up for the chance to distract Blair's attention from him. But he was determined to enjoy and appreciate the time he did have with him. He pulled the young man closer and kissed him as if it were his last chance, making the most of it. 

When he finally pulled back and released his lover he realized just how tired Blair looked, despite his enthusiastic response to the kissing. 

"Damn, Chief. Here I am all over you, and you're practically dead on your feet. Let's get you over to the sofa, so you can sit down and rest." 

Blair smiled through his weariness and followed him into the living room. They sat down together. 

"Jim, man, you have _got_ to stop apologizing for the good things you do for me. 

"You do look wiped out though." 

"I'm still a little jet lagged," he said, yawning, looking completely exhausted. And then something else stole into his expression. "I can't believe my own cousin wanted to kill me. I mean, it's not like I ever really knew Andrew that well. But still..." 

"It must hurt," Jim said. 

Blair nodded. "A lot," he said, and his voice cracked. 

Jim reached for him and hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry." 

"How could he hate me so much when he doesn't even know me?" 

"He doesn't hate you, Chief. He's a spoiled little rich kid used to getting everything he wants. But in this case, _you_ got what he wanted. So he tried to take it back. To somebody as self-centered and unscrupulous as Andrew, it's that simple." 

"I know you're probably right, that it's not personal. But it feels..." Blair trailed off, something in his voice, something Jim didn't like hearing. It sounded a lot like shame. 

"What does it feel like?" he asked, gently. 

Blair hesitated. "Uh... It just kind of reminds me of all those times as a kid when Naomi would get it into her head to go and visit her father. Oh, God, Jim, I can't tell you how awful that always was. I wasn't usually self-conscious, but when we'd go there and they'd look us over, judge us by our clothes and stuff, I never felt like more of an outsider. It was as if they hated us for being different. And today, it was just like those bad old days all over again." 

Jim rubbed his back and tried to console him. "It's always sad when people can't accept that we're all different and that's what makes life so interesting. Their money may have given them some sense of entitlement, made them feel they could look down on you, but it certainly didn't help them become better people. Andrew's a criminal. Marissa is unhappy and unfulfilled. And Elliot looks like if that stick gets any further up his butt it's going to do some serious damage to his colon." 

Blair laughed, and Jim felt glad for it. 

"You're the quality person in your family, Chief. You've got a good heart and a wonderful mind and a beautiful spirit. That's what really matters, not the money or the fitting into corporate America thing. You _are_ your own man, and it's no wonder your grandfather respected you enough to leave his company to you. It's just a shame he was too proud an old coot to welcome you into his life. He had no idea what he was missing." 

"Do you think so?" Blair asked, a young, uncertain, hopeful sound in his voice that made Jim's heart break. 

"Absolutely," he said, stroking his hair to soothe and reassure him. 

Blair hugged him hard." Thank you. And thanks for saving me. Again." 

Jim smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Don't mention it. Hey, you know what? We should do something special tonight," Jim suggested. 

"Go out?" 

Jim had to shake his head. "I wish we could, but until we establish the link between Andrew and Zoell--" 

"What?" 

Jim sighed. He would still have preferred not to tell Blair about the Ice Man, to spare him full knowledge of the lengths his cousin had gone to. But he knew Blair wouldn't let it drop. 

"Captain Banks was able to identify the MO of the killer who took the shots at you. His name is Klaus Zoeller. He has a long and ugly history, not to mention a freakish sense of pride in his work. He won't leave the job undone, even with Andrew in jail. It's not really going to be over until we catch Zoeller. Hopefully, your cousin will tell the cops something that will help us track him down." 

Blair's face fell. 

"You're safe here, Blair. I promise." 

"I know," he said softly, still sounding crestfallen. 

"We _will_ catch him." 

"I just want this to be over." 

"I know." 

"What if we can't catch him? What if he's just always out there and--" 

Jim shook his head. "That's not going to happen. His pride is hurt. He's going to make a mistake, and I'll be there when he does. He doesn't know about the advantage we have with my senses. That works in our favor." 

Something flickered in Blair's eyes. 

"What?" Jim asked him. 

"That's the first time you've ever said anything positive about your senses." 

"Yeah, well, if they can help me do something worthwhile like looking out for you, then I guess they're not so bad." 

Blair's huge smile was the best reward Jim had ever received. 

"Thanks, man," the young man said. 

"So even though we should stay close to home, I was still thinking we could have dinner and maybe see a movie afterwards, if you're not too tired. We could get some takeout and pick something out at the Blockbuster." 

Blair tilted his head, his eyes sparkling. "That sounds a lot like a date." 

"I guess you finally wore me down. You're my client, and it still would be better if I weren't so personally involved with you. But we both know how successful that's been. So would you, Blair? Would you go out with me?" 

Blair smiled luminously. "Yes, Jim. I'd love to." 

"Good. You know, despite what happened with Andrew, we really do have some celebrating to do." 

Blair's expression turned self-satisfied. "I was really good, wasn't I?" 

Jim laughed. "Yeah, Chief, you were great. Modest, not so much. But really, really persuasive, definitely." 

"I think they'll vote to back my plan." 

Jim nodded. "So do I." 

"That _is_ worth celebrating." 

"So let's get to it." 

"I just need to get cleaned up first. I was nervous all morning, sweating like a pig." 

"Thanks for sharing." 

Blair stood up to head for the bathroom. "Yeah, well, just be glad I'm taking care of it before we begin our date." 

"You really enjoy the fact that this is a date, don't you?" 

"Very much, yeah. I mean, I know you said the keeping your distance thing was only because you needed to be professional and all, but " 

"What?" 

"I wasn't always sure." 

Jim stood up and scooped Blair into his arms. "But you're sure now, right?" 

Blair nuzzled his neck. "Mmm." 

"Good." 

Blair moved to the phone. "I'm just going to check my messages, shower, and I'll be ready to go." 

"Great. I'm going to change for my date," Jim told him with a smile and headed upstairs. 

He could hear Blair dialing, as he opened his closet and looked for just the right shirt. 

"Oh, for God's sake." Blair's words floated up to him. He sounded disgusted. 

"What's wrong, Chief?" 

"I've got two messages, both urgent, both about those damned artifacts. One is from Professor O'Neill who gave them to me to bring to Cascade. The other's from Professor Jacobs, the guy I'm supposed to deliver them to. Geezus, if I'd known I was going to be hounded about it, I wouldn't have agreed to do this favor." 

"No sweat, Chief. We can run them by the university on our way to pick up dinner and get those guys off your back." 

"That would be great, man. Thanks." 

"No problem." 

"Okay, then I'm going to go get cleaned up, and then we can head out." 

"Great, Chief." 

Jim unbuttoned his shirt, undid his trousers and stepped out of them. He'd picked out the dark blue silk shirt, and that really looked better with his jeans. Plus, it would be more comfortable for lounging around on the sofa. He listened as the water went on in the bathroom, and memories surged back to him. His hearing pricked up, and he zeroed in on the metallic slide of Blair's zipper, the soft, heavy fall of his clothes hitting the floor. He was hard in an instant. Just like last night, his mind jumped to pictures of Blair nude and water slicked and wanting him. He was filled with the same desperate longing to go to him, have him, take him, love him, but unlike last night, this time he felt no hesitation. 

Jim was down the stairs in a flash. He stripped off his boxers in the living room, hopping on one foot and then the other to get them off without impeding his progress. Once again, the door was unlocked, and he slipped into the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain slowly, careful not to startle Blair, and stepped in behind him. He wound an arm around his lover's waist and pressed his chest tightly to Blair's back. 

"Mmm," Blair moaned in pleasure, obviously not minding that Jim was sharing his shower. 

"I fantasized about joining you like this last night," Jim whispered into his ear, and he could feel the goosebumps prickling along Blair's skin. 

"Funny. I had the same fantasy," Blair murmured, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Jim against him. 

He kissed Blair's neck and wrapped both hands around his cock. 

"Oh. God." 

Blair's little gasp of surprised delight did something erotic and thrilling to Jim. He began to pump his lover's hardness, luxuriating in the hot, slick feel of him. Jim undulated his hips and pressed his own cock against the firm, round swell of Blair's perfect bottom. Blair ran his hands up and down Jim's forearms, caressing him, mirroring Jim's movement, stroking him in the same rhythm that Jim stroked his erection. 

He pressed a kiss to Blair's temple. "I love you," he said, softly. 

"Oh, my God." 

The admission startled Jim almost as much as it did Blair. It just slipped out somehow, although there were a hundred reasons not to say it. He'd only known Blair for two days. It was incredibly precipitous, and it might very well freak the young man out, scare him off. He didn't know if his lover's gasp of surprise meant he was pleased. Or perhaps he was now frantically trying to find a way out of the situation, to get away from Jim. And then there was the realization he had faced only a little while earlier, that there really was no way, at least no way he could see, that it would ever work out between them, not in any permanent way. But still it was the truth, he did love Blair, and he wanted to say it. 

In fact, it felt great to speak it out loud. 

He pulled Blair's damp hair back and kissed behind his ear. "I love you," he told him. 

Blair trembled harder, and Jim could sense the sharp surge in his arousal. Blair got off on hearing that Jim loved him. It occurred to Jim that maybe he'd been wrong, after all. Maybe there _was_ some way it could work out. He smiled, genuinely happy, the first time he could remember feeling so light, so carefree, like life actually held some promise. 

He worried the pulse point at the base of Blair's throat. "I love you." 

He pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Love you." 

He pecked him on the cheek. "I really, really love you." 

He pushed his damp hair to the side and suckled the back of his neck. "I love you so much." 

Blair came violently in his hands, completely silently, his whole body shuddering, his back heaving, great, wracking, noiseless sobs torn from deep inside him. 

His young lover collapsed back against him, undone, his muscles weak and shaky from the strenuousness of his orgasm. Jim held him tightly around the waist to prevent him from falling. 

He brushed his lips against Blair's ear. "Thank you so much. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You are so, so gorgeous. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. But I'm so glad you're here with me now." 

Jim's hard cock still nestled in the slick cleft of Blair's ass, as if it had found a home there. Blair tightened his grip on Jim's arms and rocked his hips back, rubbing his bottom against Jim's erection. 

Jim gasped. "Oh, God, yeah. Yeah, Chief. Please." 

But Blair pulled away, and Jim couldn't stifle the groan of disappointment that came out of him. Then Blair leaned forward, braced his hands against the tiled wall, spread his legs and offered himself. And Jim groaned again, only this time it was most certainly not with disappointment. 

A flash of guilt stilled him a moment, as he remembered how roughly he'd taken Blair earlier that day. "I don't want to make you sore," he said. 

Blair looked at him over his shoulder. "Please. I want you." 

That was enough for Jim, all the invitation he needed. He poured some shower gel into his hand and lubed his cock. He took Blair's hips in his hands and slid gently inside him. Blair was relaxed, his muscles loose from his orgasm and their intercourse earlier in the day, ready to receive him. He pressed his chest against Blair's back and began to move inside him. 

Blair twisted around awkwardly so they could kiss. "I love you too, so much," the young man told him. 

"Oh, God." 

It was almost too much. He nearly came from just that--those sweet words from the man he cherished, the look and smell and feel of him, the impossibly erotic sensation of that hot, throbbing body holding his cock in its clenching muscular grasp, driving him nearly out of his mind with pleasure. But he held on, regained his control. It was too good to be over so soon. He thrust in and out of Blair's body, deliberately, in long, smooth strokes, loving every moment of it. 

"Oh, yeah, Jim," Blair said, his voice thick and slurred with passion. "So good. So good. I love you so much." 

Jim braced his hips and pounded into him harder, wildly losing control. 

But Blair pushed back against his cock, wanting still more. "Give it to me, Jim. Give it to me. God, I love you. Oh, God." 

It was the words of love that sent him over the edge. His cock swelled, his balls drew up, and he came, wave after wave of completion, filling his partner, the man he loved, who loved him back, with his heated seed. 

A moment later, Blair howled, his head flopped back onto Jim's shoulder, and Jim could feel the magnificent body he was buried in spasm hotly around his cock. He hardened again and came in nearly the same instant, shooting yet more semen deep into his lover's ass. 

Blair's muscles had all gone weak, tapped out by the strain of back-to-back orgasms. Jim was not much more steady on his feet, but he did manage to hold them both up. Now that he was starting to come back to his senses, he felt the freezing water stinging his skin. 

He quickly washed them both off and then said, "'Let's get out of here and get warm, Chief." 

Blair could only nod, still undone. Jim helped him out of the shower and briskly dried him off, warming the chill, wrapping the towel around his waist when he was finished. He dried himself as well and slipped on his bathrobe. 

He turned Blair around to the face the mirror and stayed pressed close behind him. 

"What do you do with your hair, Chief?" he asked. 

Blair leaned back against him. "I just pick it out to keep it from getting tangled, then I can pull it back." 

"Can I?" he asked, reaching for the pick Blair had left on the vanity. 

His lover smiled at him in the mirror. "That would be great," he said, sounding as happy as Jim felt. 

Jim returned the smile and kissed his shoulder. He took the pick and carefully set to work on Blair's hair. 

"Mmm," Blair murmured. 

"Feel nice?" 

"Very." 

"Good," Jim said. 

He gently untangled the young man's hair, working methodically, section by section, until it was all done. 

"That's great, Jim. Thanks." 

"My pleasure, Chief." 

"And thank you for...you know," Blair said and broke into a huge smile. 

Jim couldn't help blushing a little. "I'm pretty sure I should be thanking you for that." 

"Why don't we settle for thanking each other?" 

"That sounds right," Jim said, and then he asked, "Can I ask you about that...uh, that thing you did...um, to me last night...when we..." 

"The suck and fuck?" 

"Yeah," he mumbled, feeling unaccountably shy, even after all they'd shared, the lovemaking and the declarations and the amazing connection. 

"Sure, man. You can ask me anything." 

"Uh, well, I wonder... Where'd you learn to do that?" 

"The Internet. It really can be educational." 

"How'd you practice?" 

Blair shook his head. "I didn't. You were the first person I ever tried it on. I wanted to give you something special." 

Jim blinked in reaction, at first out of surprise, and then with such a profound rush of love it brought tears to his eyes. He crushed Blair against him in a rib-cracking hug. "Thank you," he whispered. 

"I already loved you then," Blair explained. 

"Oh, Chief. Chief." He could have held Blair like that forever, but eventually, he did let him go, so his lover could breathe again. "That's it, Chief. No more sex standing up. I want to give you something special, too. Tonight, I'm taking you to bed properly, and we're going to stay there for a long, long time. Maybe you'll even give me some lessons on the things you've learned from the Internet." 

Blair laughed with delight. The sound seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep in his belly and spilled out into the room, rich and deep, the most joyful thing Jim had ever heard. "Works for me," Blair agreed and then he tugged on Jim's arm, urging him out of the bathroom. "Let's get going on our date, so we can get started on your education. You know, I'm really beginning to appreciate that we have to stay home." 

And then Jim was the one laughing. His mirth came from somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. In forty years, he'd never heard himself sound so free or so glad at heart. 

* * *

Jim honestly thought nothing could spoil his jubilant mood. With Blair by his side, everything just seemed brighter and cheerier and better. Riding in the truck felt like a companionable adventure. His senses practically hummed with contentment, acute but not overpowering, pleasurable for the first time in his life. Blair turned on the radio, and they sang along with the tunes on the oldies station, smiling at each other every few seconds. 

Jim Ellison was in love. He was loved in return. He was the luckiest man on earth. 

They turned into the university and parked in the nearest lot to Hargrove Hall. Blair wanted to stop by his office and check his mail. The university had allowed him to keep the space, even though he was no longer officially an employee or a graduate student at the institution. However, he was the top corporate officer at one of the school's primary donors, so in all likelihood, the office would remain his as long as he cared to keep it. After Blair caught up with his correspondence and sent a few e-mails, they'd drop off the artifacts with Professor Jacobs. Then they'd head to the restaurant and video store and go home to begin their date. 

They both got out of the truck, and Jim slung his arm around Blair's shoulders as they walked to the anthro building. They headed up the stairs to the entrance, and Jim's cell phone rang. He felt a strong wave of impatience, matched by an equally urgent sense of responsibility. He reluctantly detached himself from his lover and fished the phone out of his pocket. 

"Ellison," he answered, following Blair into the building. 

"Jim, it's Simon Banks. I got your mobile number from the security company. Look, we've got a problem." 

"Don't tell me you had to let Andrew Sandburg go for some reason." 

"No. In fact, he spilled his guts even before his lawyer could make it down to the station. Hell, the kid seemed almost proud of what he'd done. He told us all about how he blackmailed the family's chauffeur into sabotaging the brakes on Blair's car. It seems the guy had been arrested more than once for drunk driving, and he would have lost his job if anyone else found out about it. The kid also bragged about how he'd paid another staff member at the house in England to rig the chandelier. He didn't spare us any of the details. But he's consistently refused to admit that he hired a professional assassin. Of course, he could just be holding out, but..." 

"Why admit to everything else then," Jim said, heading up the stairs with Blair. 

"Exactly." 

"So he may not be responsible for that part of it." 

"That seems the most likely explanation." 

"Fuck!" 

"Is Blair still with you?" 

"Fortunately." 

"At least there's that. You can keep an eye on him." 

"I'll do that, of course. But we've got to figure this out, Simon. We've got to catch this prick." 

"I'm with you on that, Jim." 

"Keep me posted." 

"You too." 

Jim flipped his phone closed and returned it to his jacket pocket. They had reached Blair's office, and the young man was watching him expectantly. 

"What was that all about?" he asked, as he unlocked the door. 

"Chief, I don't know how to tell you this--" 

"Fuck!" Blair swore the moment he stepped into the room. "Fuck, fuck. Double fuck!" 

"Oh, shit," Jim said. 

The room looked like a natural disaster had hit it. There was furniture overturned. Files had been dumped out of the cabinets. Artifacts were scattered, some broken. Papers were strewn everywhere. 

"Damn," Blair swore. "Damn, damn, damn!" 

"Chief, we've got to get out of here." 

"How am I ever going to sort this all out?" Blair asked, sounding sick at heart. "Oh, God. I mean, I've never exactly been a poster boy for organization, but at least, I could always find what I was looking for. But now... This is my work, Jim. Years and years of research, and it's all practically useless to me now. I don't know if I'll ever been able to put it all back together in some way that makes sense, that I can work with." 

Jim put his hands on Blair's shoulders and turned him around. "I know this is upsetting, but we've got big trouble, Chief. Andrew has admitted to arranging all the attempts on your life except for the shooting. Simon and I believe someone else is responsible for that. It may be the same person who tore up your office." 

"But why? Why here? Why not over at the company?" 

"I don't know. But we don't have time to worry about that now. If they were here before, they could come back again. There's no one else around here but us. It's the perfect place to carry out a hit. We've got to get you somewhere safe." 

Blair looked stricken, the fear returned to his eyes, all the light-hearted good feeling they'd both been enjoying just moments earlier now gone completely. "Okay, Jim. Whatever you think is best." 

He put his arm around his lover's shoulders and pulled him close, a protective gesture. "On our way out, we can alert campus security that your office was broken into." 

Blair nodded and let Jim guide him to the door. But as he was about to open it and go out, Jim grabbed his arm and pulled him back, his Sentinel hearing picking up the dull echo of footsteps coming up the stairs. 

"Get under the desk." 

"What--" 

"Do it, Blair!" 

Blair turned completely pale, and Jim could hear his heart rate speed up, racing with terror. But he complied and knelt down under the desk, the only spot in the entire room that provided even the least bit of cover. 

Jim pulled his gun and plastered himself against the wall beside the door. He waited and listened carefully, tracking the footsteps. He could hear them turning the corner, coming down the hall. They paused outside the office, and he could see the shadow on the frosted glass of the door. The knob turned, the door pushed open, and a man stepped into the room. 

Jim practically leaped on him. "Get down! Hands behind your head!" he screamed at the intruder, grabbing him by the collar, pushing him to the floor, training the gun on him. 

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'll give you my wallet. Please!" 

"Jim, wait!" Blair called out to him, scrambling out from under the desk. "It's okay, Jim. It's Professor Jacobs." 

"Blair?" the grey-haired man said. "Oh, God. Thank God, Blair. I thought I'd interrupted some sort of break in." 

Blair helped him up, dusted him off. "I'm so sorry." 

When the man got to his feet, he looked around. "Oh, heavens, it looks like you have had a break in here." 

"Yeah. And it's made us jumpy. I'm sorry. Obviously, we thought you were someone else." 

The professor held up a hand. "I can understand how you would make that assumption under the circumstances. It's all right, Blair. I was startled, to say the least, but there's no harm done. I was on my way home and thought I'd stop by on the offhand chance that you might be in your office. Or leave you a note if you weren't and arrange a time I could pick up the statuettes. " 

"Oh, sure. I really apologize for not getting them to you sooner." 

The professor smiled. "That's okay, Blair. I understand you have more pressing concerns these days. Congratulations, by the way, on your new position. It must be very exciting to take over the family business." 

"It's definitely been interesting." 

"So, do you have the artifacts with you?" Professor Jacobs asked. 

"Yes, they're right here. Let me get them for you." 

Blair fished the carrying case out from under the desk. 

"Here you are," he said, handing it to the professor. 

The man smiled. "I can't tell you how happy I am to get them. This will mean so much to my work. Thank you so much for your generosity in bringing them to me. I was too anxious to begin studying them to wait weeks while they were shipped or Professor O'Neill was able to bring them." 

Blair returned his smile, and Jim could see that he understood this kind of enthusiasm perfectly well. 

"I hope they'll prove enlightening to your research," Blair said. 

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be incredibly valuable. Would you mind if I took a quick look before I head out? I'm just so eager to see if they're everything I was told they would be." 

"Of course," Blair said. "Be my guest." 

Jim stared at him disbelievingly. They were supposed to be getting out of there. But Blair gave him a look that said he should be patient. It would only take a minute. 

The professor rested the carrying case on the desk, opened it and took out one carefully wrapped bundle. The man unrolled it, treating it with great delicacy and took out the statuette. Jim found it difficult to understand what all the excitement was about. In his opinion, the statuette was...well, ugly. It was short and squat and weirdly two-dimensional for a sculpture, the features inscribed into the surface, so ambiguously that Jim couldn't even tell if the figure was supposed to be male or female. 

"It's remarkable," the professor said, staring at it, nearly transfixed. "Look at the details. There's such rich iconography. Each piece tells part of the legend. It should really help me decipher some of the more arcane points of the story." 

"I'd love to read your paper when it's finished," Blair said. 

"Of course, of course. I'd appreciate having your insight, and thank you again for helping me out like this." 

"No problem," Blair assured him. 

Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eager to be gone. Professor Jacobs noticed his restlessness. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm holding you up. Let me just get this back in the carrying case, and I'll be on my way." 

"I'm sorry," Blair told him. "It's just that we have dinner plans." 

The man shook his head. "No need to apologize. I should have realized." He sat the statuette down on the desk, while he spread out the soft cloth in which it had been stored, so he could roll it up again. 

In that moment of quiet, Jim heard a telltale clicking, and his stomach clenched with sickness. 

"Everybody down! Now!" 

In the next moment, the quiet was shattered by the splintering of glass as bullets sprayed the room. Jim leaped and pushed Blair down. The professor also ducked for cover. All three of them retreated to relative safety behind the desk. The door swung open, kicked in, nearly swaying on its hinges, and a man appeared in the doorway, wearing a kevlar vest, a gun in each hand. Jim knew it had to be Zoeller. 

The hit man fired wildly, and the room practically exploded with the play of gunfire. Glass and pottery shattered. Wood splintered. Tufts of sofa stuffing flew into the air and settled to the ground like a freakish snowfall. Jim returned rounds as best he could, but he realized with a sick, sinking sensation in his gut that the odds were not in their favor. There was nowhere to run, no place really to hide, and Zoeller had the superior arsenal. 

Professor Jacobs gasped out loud when a shot hit the statuette that he'd left sitting on Blair's desk in the panic. It exploded and sparkling green flashes of light flew everywhere. From what Jim could tell, they were uncut emeralds, and he finally understood what they were dealing with. 

He edged out from behind the desk a little, to get a better shot, but he wasn't quite fast enough and Zoeller caught him in the shoulder. 

"Jim!" Blair screamed in horror. 

Fortunately, it was not an incapacitating wound. The force of the impact knocked him back a little, but he held onto his gun and was able to scramble back to safety. It was his left shoulder that had been hit, so he could still fire his weapon. Zoeller continued strafing the room, but one of his guns seized up and he discarded it. Jim took that opportunity to get off a shot, focusing his Sentinel sight, aiming for Zoeller's gun hand. 

His aim was perfect. Zoeller screeched in pain and dropped the gun. He quickly turned and made a run for it. Jim leaped over the desk. 

On his way out of the room, he yelled to Blair, "Stay here!" 

Then he sprinted down the hall after Zoeller, tracking the other man's heart beat and respiration. The assassin had headed up the stairs, and Jim followed him, taking the steps two at a time, holding his left arm close against his side, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his shoulder. The trail kept leading up and up until Jim finally came to the metal door that provided access to the roof. He tried to open it quietly, but it was old and rusty, the hinges in terrible need of oiling. It screeched and groaned as he pushed through it, alerting Zoeller to his presence. 

He flattened himself against the side of the building and used his senses to search the roof for the other man. He tracked him to the far side of the building and carefully made his way over there. He found Zoeller in the process of going over the edge using rappelling gear that he must have set up in advance to ensure his escape. Jim pointed his gun at him and seriously considered firing. The man had shot Blair's office so full of lead that there was no way the police would ever deem it anything but a justifiable shooting. Then Zoeller would never again be a problem for Blair or anyone else. But Jim thought a moment longer and then lowered the weapon. If he killed Zoeller, they'd have no chance of finding out who had hired him, and that person might very well send somebody else after Blair. He would be in constant danger. He'd be forced to live in hiding, his life poisoned by fear. Jim couldn't let that happen. 

But he also knew he couldn't let Zoeller get away. A professional always returned to finish the job. So he jumped on the man and managed to pull him back to the roof before he could begin his descent. Unfortunately, at the same time, Zoeller managed to knock Jim's gun out of his hand, and it went sailing halfway across the roof. 

Zoeller grabbed Jim by the throat and wrestled him down to the ground. Jim landed a blow to his ribs, and the assassin screamed, releasing the pressure long enough for Jim to get out from under him, to turn the tables, to wrestle Zoeller down onto his stomach. He tried to pull the man's arms behind his back to subdue him, but Zoeller managed to punch Jim in the gut, turn over and use both his feet to kick him off, sending him skidding several yards over the tarred surface of the roof. 

Before he could get up, Zoeller descended on him, yanked him by the jacket, swung him around, let him go, sent him flying toward the low edge of the roof. It took all Jim's strength to catch himself, to keep from plunging to his death over the side. He didn't have a chance to move before Zoeller was on top of him again, the man's hands around his neck, squeezing the life out of him, bending him backward over the wall, trying to push him off the building. Jim had to fight for every breath, and he could feel his clothing sliding on the rough surface of the wall. Another few inches, a little more pressure from Zoeller, and he would lose his balance and topple over the edge. 

//Oh, God, Chief. I'm so sorry. I wish we'd found each other sooner. I wish I hadn't wasted so much time not understanding what I am, being miserable, feeling sorry for myself, when I could have been happy by your side. Oh, God, I love you so much. I hope you know that.// 

Jim closed his eyes and tried to prepare for the moment of impact. When it came, though, it was not what he was expecting. There was a loud crack, and then Zoeller's body seized and bucked up. Jim managed to push him to the side to prevent his weight from taking them both over the edge, but he still had to grapple frantically to keep his hold on the wall. The force of momentum sent Zoeller plummeting. Jim took a deep breath and a shaky step away from the edge. His shoulder was really beginning to hurt, and he was terribly glad to be alive. 

Blair stood frozen, rooted to the spot, his arm still extended, Jim's gun in his hand. Professor Jacobs was a couple of paces behind him, white-faced with alarm. Blair's face was a mask of shock at first. But as recognition of what he'd done began to filter into his awareness, his expression turned to profound dismay. His hand began to shake, and he stared at the gun as if it were something alien. Then he dropped the pistol and pulled back his hand as if he'd been burned. 

Jim went to him and took him in his arms. "It's all right, Chief," he said, soothingly. "I know you didn't want to, but he was going to push me off the roof." 

"I've never killed anyone before. Or any _thing,_ for that matter. I never thought I would." He sounded appalled and shaken. 

Jim hugged him harder. "I'm so sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry you had to do that." 

"I couldn't let him hurt you. Couldn't. Just couldn't." 

"I know, Chief. And thank you. He would have killed me if you hadn't come to my rescue. You know, I'm really beginning to appreciate that you never stay put when I ask you to." 

"I love you, Jim," Blair whispered. 

Jim kissed the top of his head. "I love you, too." 

The professor cleared his voice. "I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but--" 

They looked up only to find the man pointing a gun at them, the one Jim had shot out of Zoeller's hand downstairs in Blair's office. 

Blair groaned pitifully and buried his face in Jim's shoulder. "What now?" 

"I think we just found out who's smuggling the emeralds hidden in the statuettes." 

"Very good, Jim," the man said, smiling nastily. "Colombia mines some of the finest emeralds in the world, more rare than diamonds, more valuable than heroin. What better way to get them out of the country and into the U.S. than hidden inside worthless artifacts, carried through customs by a well-respected anthropologist who's the head of a multi-national corporation?" 

"But why?" Blair asked. 

"Wait until you've been a poor professor for twenty years, overlooked for advancement, not able to afford even the smallest of luxuries, watching undergraduate students who were complete dullards in your class take jobs as investment bankers and stock brokers right after graduation for _twice_ your salary. But then, I guess you'll never be a poor anything, will you, Blair?" 

"I've been _plenty_ poor in my life," Blair told him, angrily. "I've never had a _penny_ of money from my family, and I've _never_ felt the need to commit a crime." 

"You're a moral paragon then, aren't you?" the professor sneered. "What can I say? I prefer cash to righteousness." 

"Don't tell me Professor O'Neill was in on it, too?" Blair asked. 

The man shook his head. "He was just a convenient dupe. Like you. Unfortunately, he couldn't let well enough alone and had to go digging into things. I was forced to take care of him. I didn't know what he might have told you, so then I had to take care of you, too." 

"Oh, God! He called me earlier today and left a message, said it was urgent. He must have been trying to warn me." 

"No doubt. He called me this morning, too. To confront me, to chastise me for my 'unseemly' activities, for bringing dishonor to the academic profession. Stupid old bastard. Fortunately, the people I'm working with in Colombia have connections everywhere. It wasn't difficult to take care of him. In fact, it only took a phone call. It's too bad you were too busy to take O'Neill's call. Maybe things would have worked out better for you. Ah, well, your loss, my gain." 

"What are you going to tell the cops, Jacobs?" Jim asked. "You know they'll figure it out." 

"Oh, I don't think so. They think somebody's after Blair because of his role at the corporation. I'll take my emeralds and be on my way before they arrive. They'll never even know I was here. They'll assume you both died at the hands of the assassin and that you somehow managed to take him out in the process. When they perform the autopsies and do the ballistics analysis, they'll find he was shot with your gun and both of you with his. He was wearing gloves, so they won't think anything about it being wiped clean of prints. It will be terribly tragic. I'm sure you'll make the front page." The professor took aim. "Now, enough talking. Time to finish this once and for all." 

"I'm sorry, Jim. If it weren't for me--" Blair said. 

Jim shook his head. "I'm the one who let you down, Chief. I told you'd I keep you safe." 

Jim held him tightly, in part to comfort Blair, in part to comfort himself. 

A shot rang out, but Professor Jacobs was the one who fell. 

"Oh, my God," Blair gasped, pale and shaking. 

Simon stood in the doorway, gun in hand, surrounded by a crowd of other cops. 

"Oh, my God," Blair said again. 

"It's okay, Chief," Jim tried to reassure him. 

"Oh, God. Oh, God." 

"Thanks for the save, Simon," Jim told the police captain. 

"Actually, you can thank Sandburg. He had the good sense to call 911. They routed it to me. I was on my way home, so I was already in the vicinity. So were a couple of patrol cars, so we all responded to the call. We saw the body and headed for the roof. And it's a good thing, too. If this guy had used the two of you for target practice, the mayor would have had my ass." The police captain eyed Jim's wound. "How's the shoulder?" 

"Hurts like a bitch. But I'm pretty sure it's just a flesh wound." 

"Oh, God," Blair murmured again. 

"Is he all right?" Simon asked. 

Jim pulled Blair closer and hugged him. "I think so," he told Simon. Then he asked Blair, "You're all right, aren't you, Chief?" 

Blair managed to nod, and Jim kissed him on the forehead. He didn't miss the self-satisfied expression on Simon's face when he saw that gesture of affection, as if it pleased the man to have confirmation of what he'd suspected all along. However, Jim couldn't discern any sign of judgment or disgust in his reaction, and he appreciated the police captain's tolerant attitude. 

"So who was this guy?" Simon asked. 

"Professor Henry Jacobs, with the Folklore department here at the U," Blair said, his voice still a little shaky. But his body had stopped trembling, and Jim could tell the shock was beginning to wear off. 

"The professor was smuggling emeralds," Jim explained to Simon. "They were hidden in some Colombian artifacts he had Blair bring into the country for him. Apparently, his scheme started to unravel, and he decided to take out everyone involved, just in case they'd realized what he was up to. So he hired Zoeller. He also arranged for the murder of one of Blair's colleagues who'd figured it all out." 

Jim had thought he was holding up pretty well from the gunshot wound, but suddenly his head began to spin and his knees went weak. He stumbled a little. Blair caught him around the waist and held him up. 

"Let's talk about this later," Blair said. "We need to get Jim to the hospital." 

"There's an ambulance on the way," Simon told him. 

"I'm not staying," Jim insisted. 

"What?" Blair asked. 

"I'll go the hospital, but I won't stay overnight," he declared stubbornly. 

"But, Jim--" 

"No, Chief. I made you a promise, and I always keep my word. When we get home tonight, I'm taking you to bed, even if I'm doped up on pain killers and all we can do together is sleep." 

Blair shook his head. "You are mule-headed, man." 

Jim smiled at him, even though he was beginning to feel seriously dizzy. "Only when it's important, Chief. Only when it's important." 

* * *

Epilogue: 

It was a week later when he, Blair and Simon met at a local watering hole to have a drink together and congratulate one another on solving the case, even if it had been in the eleventh hour, with their lives hanging in the balance. Jim's arm was in a sling, still sore, but well on it's way to healing, no more than a flesh wound, as he'd suspected. However, he was still taking antibiotics, and Blair refused to let him have a beer, ordering him ginger ale instead, which he drank with a sour expression on his face. 

Blair had been watching him like a hawk while he recuperated, on the look out for any sign of complications or sensory distress from the pain or the medicine, waiting on him hand and foot, making him drink weird tasting herbal concoctions, basically lavishing him with attention, some of it wonderful, some of it annoying. 

All in all, he'd never enjoyed a gunshot wound more in his life. 

"So here's to the successful resolution of the case," Simon said, holding up his glass. 

He and Blair raised their glasses as well, and they all clinked them together. 

"And here's to the CEO of Sandburg Enterprises, alive and well and still on the job," Simon added. 

But Blair shook his head. "I'm getting out of the CEO biz, Simon. I'm going back to the university to resume my doctoral work." 

Simon's expression turned curious. "What about the company?" 

"I turned it over to my cousin Marissa. Technically speaking, I'm still the major shareholder, but I gave her my proxy to run things. My grandfather's prejudice against women in business blinded him to the truth about who'd be the best person to run the company. I needed to set that straight." 

"But what about your reforms?" Simon asked. 

"The investors voted to adopt Blair's strategic vision," Jim said, proudly. 

"And Marissa has turned out to be weirdly amenable to it," Blair said. "In fact, she's already had some really good ideas for how to make the best use out of the PR value of the new initiative." 

"So you're back at the university, back where you belong, picking up where you left off," Simon said. 

"Almost," Blair said. "I've re-enrolled in my Ph..D. program, but I've decided on a new direction for my research. It should prove very interesting." 

He smiled knowingly at Jim, who smiled back at him. 

"Of course, I still have my eye on the company," Blair continued. "If I don't like the way things are going, I'll step back in. And I have some other business ideas I'd like to research when I have the time, so I guess I haven't really stepped aside, just kind of faded to the background. I feel like my grandfather trusted me with something, and I have to see it through." 

Simon nodded. "That's to your credit, although it sounds like it's going to keep you pretty busy." 

Blair smiled. "There won't be anything new about that." 

"And what about you?" Simon asked Jim. 

Jim shook his head. "Nothing much has changed. I've been out of commission this week, but I'll head back to work in a day or two." 

"You know, you'd make a good cop," Simon said. 

"I'm not looking to change careers." 

"It's a shame to waste all that ability babysitting spoiled rich people. No offense, Blair. I don't mean you, of course." 

Blair waved his hand. "None taken. I'm donating my profits from the company to a fund to preserve the rain forest, so I'm officially back to being poor now, anyway. Well, except for the rainy day money I have stashed away. I mean, a guy does have to look out for his future." 

Simon shook his head. "So Sandburg's got a trust fund to fall back on. I can't offer you anything like that, Jim, but it is a good, solid career path. It's work you can be proud of." 

"I really don't think I'm cop material, Simon," Jim said. 

"Well, I do, and I've been on the force for twenty years. I know what I'm talking about. I know talent when I see it." 

"I just wouldn't want to have to start all over again, alongside the eighteen-year-olds." 

Simon shook his head. "You wouldn't have to. There's a special accelerated program for candidates with the right education and/or prior professional experience. You'd get credit for your military background and your experience working security." 

"I don't know--" 

Blair put a hand on his shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes, his expression almost solemn. "I really think you ought to give it some thought, Jim. This could be just what you've been looking for." 

"But what if I can't control--" 

"I'd help you. I know you can do it," Blair said. 

"Sometimes, it seems like this is becoming the most dangerous city in America," Simon said. "That special gift of yours would really give us an advantage over the bad guys." 

Jim turned his expression blank. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Simon sighed. "No, _I_ don't know what I'm talking about. I still haven't figured out how you do it. But _you_ know exactly what I mean." 

Jim said nothing, still not prepared to reveal his secret to another person. Right now, it was enough to have Blair's understanding, his help, his love. 

"You know, Simon," Blair said, and Jim could tell by his tone of voice that he'd just had a brain storm. "I have this new idea for my dissertation. I'm thinking about writing about closed societies, you know, like the police department. Any chance you could swing an observer's pass?" 

Jim exchanged a glance with his lover. In so many ways, he barely knew this man, but in other, strange ways, it seemed like they'd known each other forever. And if they could work together, it would give them even more time together to deepen their relationship. Blair had found the perfect solution. 

If he was really honest with himself, he had to admit that he was genuinely interested in joining the force, now that Simon had suggested it. He had been so hungry for so long for work that would give his life a sense of meaning, of purpose. Maybe he was a Sentinel, after all. Protecting and serving the good people of Cascade appealed to him, very much. He just wasn't sure he could do the job and handle his senses without his Guide by his side. And somehow, Blair knew that and had found a way to make it all work out. He reached for his lover's hand and held onto him with a deep sense of affection and gratitude. 

Simon eyed them both. "Why do I get the feeling that the two of you come as a matched set or you don't join the force at all?" 

Jim shrugged and smiled at the man, revealing nothing. 

"So how 'bout it, Simon?" Blair asked. 

"Before anybody gets any observer's pass, I want to know what this dissertation of yours is _really_ about," Simon said, looking meaningfully from Blair over to Jim. "I'm also going to want to know how Jim knew there was cocaine in your glass that day. Rafe and Brown still haven't stopped talking about it." 

Jim looked at Blair, and they smiled at each other. 

"Simon," Jim said. "If it works out the way we're hoping, we promise to tell you the whole story." 

* * *

End The Unlikely CEO.


End file.
